Brothers
by Holliday1081
Summary: A story of pirates and brothers, and the woman who may have to save them both. Third in the series started with "A Beginning" and "Past and Present." JA
1. Buried Treasure

Disclaimer: Still own nothing from PotC.  Still wish that I did.

A/N:  Well, here it is finally, the next in my series.  I hope the wait wasn't too long, and I hope all my fantastic reviewers are still interested in my stories.  This series was started in "A Beginning" and continued in "Past and Present."  If you missed those, then you may not understand this story, so I'd recommend reading those first.  This story takes place about two years after "Past and Present," putting it three years before the movie.  Now, I won't bother you with anymore rambling, on to the story!

Prologue:

"Buried treasure? You have got to be kidding me," Prescott Tarret crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at his Captain out from beneath the brim of a hat that any pirate would envy. "Buried treasure is the stuff of children's stories, Jack."

Looking up, for the first time, from a stereotypical treasure map, complete with a large red "X," the pirate glared across the table. "Element of truth in ev'ry story, mate."

"Ah, so if I were to hear a story about a man who tied together a pair of sea turtles and rode them across the sea . . . Where exactly is the truth in that one, eh?" Prescott leaned back in his chair, throwing his hat on the table so that his self satisfied smirk was not hidden by its shadow. Jack unleashed a long suffering sigh. Rather than offering up a reply, he simply reached for the empty bottle of rum perched on the edge of his desk and hurtled it towards his unsuspecting shipmate. Ducking just in time, Prescott could not help but laugh. "This is folly, Jack, and you know it."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Scotty?" Jack questioned. "Why can't you see the beauty of doin' somthin' no one's ever done before? There's buried treasure in almost ev'ry pirate story the well to do townsfolk tell to frighten their children. Wouldn't it be great to actually find it?"

Tilting his head to one side, Prescott regarded his Captain thoughtfully. "Townsfolk make those stories up. They aren't real."

"Aren't they?" the indomitable Captain Jack Sparrow winked across the table, before crossing the room and rummaging through a trunk near the rear of his cabin. Most of the crew suspected that the choicest swag was kept in that trunk, for Jack never allowed anyone near it and it remained locked at all times. Prescott smiled ruefully, the crew may have been right, but not in the way they thought. Finally finding what he had been seeking, Jack stood up and let the heavy lid fall closed. Replacing the lock, he came back to the desk, setting a large leather bound book on it's surface. Not silver, gold or precious jewels. Books. The fact that he could read was one of Jack Sparrow's most closely guarded secrets. Sailors in general were a very superstitious lot. Pirates took superstition to an unforeseen level. According to the logic of the average buccaneer, men in the Royal Navy could read and write and therefore literacy was a trait to be feared and ultimately rejected. Jack had been a man betrayed one too many times to let slip the fact that he had the ability to decipher a book, and he certainly was not going to divulge the minor detail of his actually having served in the Navy.

"Ever 'ear of a man named Henry Morgan?" the pirate Captain asked, opening the book to an illustrated page and sliding it across the desk so that Prescott could see the picture.

Prescott stared into the pen and ink face of a man with long curly hair, an embarrassingly large moustache, and beady black eyes. "Privateer," he said simply. "Razed Panama City from what I remember."

"Aye," Sparrow nodded. "Knighted for 'is years of valuable service to the crown. Hid behind 'is commission and hanged 'undreds of his former crewmen and associates." A shadow descended over the pirates' face. Abruptly closing the book, Jack returned it to the trunk.

Prescott sighed silently. Although he feigned only a vague memory of the wildly successful privateer, everyone in the King's Navy knew exactly who Captain Henry Morgan was, Prescott included. The man had somehow obtained a commission to fight the enemies of England. His methods, though extremely cruel, were excused. His destruction of the Spanish held Panama City had gone on record as an unparalleled chaotic myriad of looting, killing, and torturing. To say nothing of the fact that he attacked the city after a treaty had been signed between Spain and England. Still, the man had the luck of the gods. Instead of being punished for his deeds, he was made lieutenant governor of the city of Montego Bay, on the island of Jamaica. He lived the remainder of his days working to suppress piracy in the Caribbean and thus betraying almost everyone who he'd ever known.

"Morgan's last request was that he be buried with his most valued treasure," said Jack, who had gone to stand in front of the window.

"And?" Prescott prompted.

"The request was carried out by 'is most faithful servant who, upon completing 'is task, returned to Morgan's estate and promptly shot 'imself." Jack turned to face his shipmate, a slightly crazed look in his eyes. "No one knows the location of 'is body."

"Fantastic," Prescott said dryly. "So, not only are we chasing after some treasure that may or may not exist, we're going to be grave robbing as well."

"Man betrayed everyone who ever called 'im friend. Doesn't deserve t'rest in peace."

Prescott pursed his lips. In the two years since he had forsaken his life as Admiral of the Fleet, he had followed Jack Sparrow into many situations that seemed utterly insane. However, instead of finding the certain death that he expected, Prescott found wealth beyond measure, a life of enjoyment, and a brother he never expected to have. Though he acted daft and drunk, Jack was a man of vast intellect. A creative genius capable of amazing both friend and foe. Still, when it came to betrayal, Jack thought with his heart, not his head. His life's quest was to reacquire that which his former friend had taken from him. The deepest circles of hell were home to betrayers and mutineers, Jack would say.

Henry Morgan was a deceitful backstabber unlike any other. Robbing him of his treasure, even after death, seemed a worthy venture to Jack, no matter how steeply the odds were stacked against him.

"So," Prescott said, resigned to the fact that Jack would go after this treasure, with or without him, and hoping that Jack would be safer with him. "What makes you think we can find Morgan's grave. Others have tried, and I don't feel that I need to remind you they've all failed."

The Cheshire cat smile spread over Sparrow's face. "Remember the man I met with las' time we're in Tortuga?"

Prescott nodded.

"E used to work for Morgan. Said that Morgan drew up a map for is servant to follow so that 'is body was buried in a precise spot," Sparrow paused, gesturing to the map on the desktop. "The servant destroyed 'is own life, but not the map."

"You're telling me that 'X' really does mark the spot?" Prescott asked, gazing skeptically at the large red mark drawn on the map. "Alright, so where're you taking me, Sparrow?"

"Port Royal."

Rising from his chair, Prescott reaffixed his hat to the top of his head. "You are insane," he declared. "I never wanted to believe the rumors, but you've given me no choice." The former officer headed towards the door, but he stopped short of exiting the Captain's cabin. Turning, he crossed the room to stand before the pirate. "You cannot possibly be serious. Port Royal is the last place we should go. James Norrington is spearheading his effort to end piracy from that very city. I will not let you sail my ship into his hands!"

"It's my ship," Jack said, taking his seat and propping his feet up on the top of his desk.

"It's not," Prescott said placing his hands on the desk. "And do not change the subject."

"Relax, Scotty. The spot's well outside of town. We'll leave _Loyalty_ out of sight, come to shore under cover of darkness, and be gone before Norrington even knows we're there."

"Those are inspiring words. I'll try to remember them at your funeral."

Jack laughed, uncorking another bottle of rum. Pouring two glasses, he slid one across to Prescott. "To our impending success," he said.

Prescott lifted his glass. "Impending success, or doom."

88888

"So happy you deemed it necessary to leave most of the crew on the ship," Prescott said, glaring up at his Captain from where he stood, waist deep in a hole he'd dug in the sand. They had put in for shore at sunset, four hours ago, and Prescott felt no closer to finding the fabled treasure of Captain Morgan than he had two weeks ago when Jack first put forth the idea.

"Scotty, if you'd like to congratulate me on me incredible foresight, I'd appreciate if you'd wait until we were safely back on board," Jack replied.

Prescott exchanged glances with Mr. Daniels. "I'll take a turn, if you'd like?" the younger pirate offered.

Climbing out of the hole, Prescott left Daniels with the shovel, and went to stand next to Sparrow. The Captain's gaze was fixed to the east, across to the Blue Mountains. Built into the sides of those cliffs, less than five miles away, lay the city of Port Royal. The lights from the town could be seen reflecting on the water. Behind the two pirates, _Loyalty_ lay anchored in a hidden bay. Hidden that is, until anyone decided to sail east from the harbor, then _Loyalty_ would be a sitting duck for the Navy, East India, or even another pirate vessel.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you looked nervous," Prescott said, noting aloud the other man's rigid posture and constant fidgeting.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sparrow answered, forcing his body to relax and his fingers to be still, but his tone gave him away. The close proximity to Port Royal, and his old foe, Norrington, weighed heavily on the pirate Captain's mind. Jack often looked danger and death in the face, and laughed, but the real possibility of imprisonment and the hangman's rope were no laughing matter.

"No worries," Prescott offered. "Said yourself that we'd be gone before anyone even knew we were here." He smiled, doubting that Jack found anymore comfort in those words than he'd found when Jack said them two weeks ago.

A loud thud behind, halted any further discussion. "Found something," Daniels announced.

The three men, working together, made quick work of unearthing an ornate wooden box nearly six feet in length. The dark wood was covered with carvings, patterns from Morgan's Welsh homeland. The hinges were pure silver, imbued with tiny garnets. A silver plaque was engraved with the simple words "Rest in Peace, Captain."

"Unimaginable," Prescott breathed.

"Believe me now, mate," Jack said, as he set to work prying open the lid.

"I have to admit, Jack, that I never thought we'd find it . . . " Prescott paused, a chill suddenly entering his bones. Looking around, he suddenly felt eyes on his back. Seeing nothing, he shrugged. Probably just the Lord looking down from on high and shaking his head in seeing to what level the once honorable Prescott Tarret had been reduced. "Do you really intend to disturb the man's final resting place," Prescott said, as Jack broke one of the hinges.

Jack stopped and laid his ear to the lid of the coffin. "I don't hear 'im rollin' over," he said in mock seriousness.

Daniels laughed, despite Prescott's sharp glare.

Prescott rolled his eyes. "Fine, desecrate his grave. Don't let me stop you."

The second hinge broke beneath Sparrow's blade. "I have no intention of lettin' you stop me," he said, triumphantly. "Now, 'elp me get this top off."

Sighing, Prescott stepped forward. He, Sparrow, and Daniels pushed the lid from the box down to the ground, swirls of sand swirled up from the beach, momentarily obscuring the contents of the coffin. Grimacing, Prescott covered his nose with his arm. The stench that immediately filled the air left no doubt as to what was contained in the box. Waving away the clouds of sand, Sparrow reached into the box. Rising to his feet, the Captain revealed his treasure to Prescott . . . a bottle.

"That is a bottle of rum," Prescott said, his voice low and feral.

The pirate nodded.

"Sparrow if you dragged me across the sea, mere miles away from a pirate's worst enemy, for a bottle of rum, Norrington will be the least of your worries because I'll kill you myself."

Holding the bottle out to his shipmate, Jack said, "taste it."

"I don't want to taste it," Prescott growled.

"Just try it."

Snatching the bottle away from his crazed Captain, Prescott was surprised not to hear the sloshing of liquid. Instead, something within the bottle rattled. Raising his brow, Prescott eyed Sparrow. "Break it open," the pirate instructed. Shrugging, Prescott threw the bottle down against the coffin. The glass shattered into countless pieces and disappeared amongst the sand, leaving behind the largest gemstone he had ever seen. "The Heart of Captain Morgan," Sparrow said.

"Ruby?" Prescott asked.

"Aye, the largest in the world," the pirate picked up the stone and held it up in the moonlight. "Priceless."

"Not true," came an unfamiliar voice from behind. "You lads'll pay for it with your lives."

TBC

a/n:  Yes, yes another note.  Just in case anyone is wondering, all the stuff about Captain Morgan is historically accurate, except the part about the ruby, that I made up.  I didn't do exhaustive research, but the location of Morgan's grave is/was unknown.  He was rumored to be buried in Port Royal.  In 1692, the city was destroyed by an earthquake.  Morgan's tomb was lost beneath the rubble.  It's location was forever hidden to everyone but those who already knew where it was :-)  Anyway, as always, I live for feedback, so please let me know what you think.  And, stay tuned, Anamaria returns next chapter. --Ariana/Holliday1081


	2. Ghost Ship

Disclaimer: I own nothing from PotC.

Chapter Two: "Ghost Ship"

As she retreated to the solace of the grand balcony, the chill night air caused a shiver to creep up from the base of Anamaria Tarret's spine. She fought against the foreboding feeling of the unnaturally cool night. Maybe it was caused by the hosts. Admiral Fornin had retired, but he and his wife were still prominent citizens in Kingston's society and they continued to throw the lavish spectacle of a party for the Christmas season as they had every year since Ana was a child. Out of courtesy, Fornin still invited Ana, though he probably did not expect her to come. Two years had passed since her brother's disappearance. The rumors had ceased to be headline news, and top gossip, but the proper citizens of Kingston still could not understand why Ana did not act like a woman shamed. Maybe the Yuletide ball itself made her uncomfortable. She had met her late husband at such a ball, a man who turned out to be one of the vilest rats Ana had ever known. Maybe it was loneliness. Ever since she had been old enough to attend, Prescott had taken her to Admiral Fornin's mansion for the grandest gala of the year. Her eyes grew ever so slightly moist at the recollection of Prescott, resplendent in his full dress uniform. Of course, it did not help that her escort that evening happened to wear the same uniform, the exact same uniform.

"I should not have asked you to accompany me tonight."

Speak of the devil. Ana turned, "nonsense," she said, careful to keep the emotion out of her voice. "I had a good time."

"I appreciate that you try to spare my feelings, but it is not necessary."

Rear Admiral Shane Delaney was a fine man. A child of the nobility who could supposedly trace his lineage back to the knights of the crusades. When her brother had unorthodoxly declined his position as commander of the fleet in the West Indies, Captain Delaney had been ordered to sail from his station in the colonies fill the vacancy. He was an able officer, though none would say he was as brilliant as Prescott could have been. Shane was an attractive man. Thick blonde hair always held neatly in the pigtail at the base of his neck, sparkling green eyes, and dimples would have made most women light headed. He was a kind man. Upon arriving in Kingston he had visited Ana to assure her that he was sorry to have benefited from her brother's absence. Soon he had commenced courting Ana. Though uninterested in marrying again, Ana had done little to dissuade his attentions. Though the imperturbable lady would not admit it, she was lonely, and she did enjoy his company, despite the fact she would never love him. Still, in spite of all of Shane's benevolence and charm, Ana could not look at the blue sash peeking out from beneath his uniform without thinking of Prescott and . . . that pirate.

"Who is he?" Admiral Delaney interrupted the wanderings of Ana's mind.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "Who is who?"

"The man who has possession of your heart," Shane finished, "because you are clearly unable to give it to me."

Shane was a direct man. He spoke with the tact of a gentleman worried about a woman's delicate constitution, but he never beat around the bush. Ana's cheeks flushed nearly as scarlet as her gown. "Bold words, Sir, to assume that I am enamored with another," but even as Ana spoke, the pirate's face flashed in her mind. Dark eyes, high cheekbones, long hair blowing in the wind . . . Ana swallowed once, regained her composure.

Delaney smiled apologetically. "Of course, I should not expect you to tell me his name."

Unwilling to meet the officer's eyes, Ana turned to gaze out at the crowded harbor. She could see the busy bay from her own balcony, but Ana had stopped looking, for every time she stared out to sea she would be overcome with sadness. In two years, she had neither seen nor heard from Prescott, and she did not expect that she ever would hear from him again. So, rather than wait with a false hope, she simply did not look to sea anymore. If she had, she would have noticed days earlier, the two ships that bobbed at anchor.

"_Interceptor_'s here," she said, before her voice caught in her throat. Swaying on her feet, Ana gripped the rail for support.

Rushing to her side, Shane leant his arm. "What's wrong?"

"_Loyalty._" Rage burned deep within Ana's chest and gave her strength. Pushing Delaney's arm from hers, Ana glared up at the officer. "When were you planning to tell me about this?" she demanded through gritted teeth.

The Admiral lowered his head, but not out of shame or guilt. He wore the expression of a man who knew this moment would come and had been preparing for it. "I wasn't," he said simply.

"What!" Ana saw red. "My brother used to captain that ship," she hissed. "Every upstanding citizen in this town loves to gossip about the day he supposedly stole it from the harbor and sailed away with a pirate. _Loyalty_ cannot possibly be back in Kingston without some word about what's happened to Prescott," Ana was fighting a losing battle to keep her voice lowered. "How dare you keep this from me?"

"My dear, this will only cause you pain you don't need and – "

"First, I am most certainly not your dear, and second, you do not decide what pain I can and cannot claim as my own!"

"My apologies, I only – "

"Damn it, Shane," Ana stamped her foot, completely losing her patience. Other guests gathered on the veranda ceased their own conversations to stare at the woman who would curse out loud in public. "Tell me what's happened," she said, once again controlling the volume of her words.

"Please, you mustn't create a scene," Delaney scolded in hushed tones, unaware that he was only fanning the flames.

"A scene," Ana waved her arms in the air, "My brother's old ship has mysteriously appeared in the bay and you expect me to worry about propriety!?"

Shane sighed. He was a smart man. Smart enough to know when he was fighting a battle in which he had no hope for victory. Ana saw resignation pass over his green eyes. Extending his arm, he said, "Come with me. Captain Norrington will be at Admiralty. I understand he is a friend of yours." Ana nodded. "Then, better you hear this from him."

Taking his proffered arm, Ana's anger slipped away as Shane led her to his carriage, replaced by a palpable dread. _Better you hear this from him_. Those had been the Admiral's words. Unconsciously, Ana was taken back to the day she had learned of her husband's death at sea, his faked death, she had come to learn later. Prescott had approached her, his expression grim. "Admiralty thought it would be better if you heard this from me . . ." he'd said. The same words.

Noiselessly, a tear crept out from Ana's eye and started its miserable journey down the side of her face. She had stopped looking to the sea. She had stopped hoping that her brother would return. She had stopped imagining Prescott standing next to the pirate … brothers in arms. She had stopped expecting the pirate to steal into her house in the dead of night. All of these things, she had stopped hoping for, but she had never stopped wanting them.

The movement of the carriage slowed, and came to a halt. "James," Ana called, seeing her old friend on the front steps, apparently leaving for the night. Looking up, James froze where he stood. Practically leaping from the carriage, Ana rushed to Norrington's side, clutching his hand in her own. "Tell me, James," she said, fear reducing her voice to a whisper.

Gripping Ana's hand tightly between both of his, James took a fortifying breath. "Annie, I discovered _Loyalty_ in a bay just west of Port Royal last week."

Eyes wide, Ana's eyes darted from Norrington's face to the harbor. "I see no signs of battle, James . . ." she said, never praying harder that Prescott and the pirate had been taken into custody.

Her friend's eyes fell closed. "There was no one aboard, Annie," he said, his words a choked whisper. "She was a ghost ship." Pausing, James pulled something from his pocket. "We found this," he said.

Ana covered her mouth with her hands as the moonlight glittered off of the golden cross that Norrington held. "Oh God," feeling Shane's arm around her shoulders, Ana's knees buckled as James placed the necklace in her hand, the tiny charm robbing her of her strength. Willpower alone kept the lady on her feet as Delaney helped her back to his carriage, saying something about taking her home. Ana could hardly hear Shane's voice, though she was aware of him speaking for part of the ride. She could do nothing but stare dully at the small cross.

_"Aw, Annie, you didn't need to get me a present," Findley said, accepting the box from his little sister._

_Excitement coursed through her veins as Fin untied the bow. She was so happy for him. He had always wanted to join the Navy and sail with their oldest brother. He had always listened to Prescott's stories with rapt attention, bombarding Pres with dozens of questions. Always saying that he could not wait to wear the uniform himself. He looked so handsome in his brand new blue jacket, complete with hat and sword._

_"It isn't a present," the young girl insisted placing her hands on her hips. "It's to keep you safe."_

Findley smiled broadly, as he pulled the gold cross from its wrappings. "Just like the one you gave Pres," he said, immediately putting it over his head. Grinning, he leaned conspiratorially close to his sister's ear, "I think it's prettier than his, though."

_The girl wrapped her arms around her brother's neck, hugging him for the last time. _

_"Thanks, Annie."_

Tears blurred her vision. She closed her fingers around the cross; it's points digging into the flesh of her palm. That small cross and his sword were all of Findley that returned home with Prescott the next time _Dauntless_ made port. She remembered finding him sitting on the floor in Findley's room, staring at that necklace much in the same way she was staring now. She could still see the emptiness in his eyes as Prescott gave the cross back to her. "You keep it," she had said, somehow knowing that her big brother needed it more than she. Since that day, he had never taken it off.

Maybe, Fin and Pres were together right now.

Burying her arms, Ana no longer fought against the sobs. She wept openly, unable to take even the slightest comfort in Shane's hand rubbing her back. Even though she had been without word from Prescott for two years, she had not been alone until now. Her depressed thoughts drifted to the pirate. What had become of him? Had he been with Prescott? Was she truly alone, or was he enjoying ignorant bliss somewhere out there?

"Annie, you're home," he said some moments later. "Will you allow me to stay with you a while?"

"No," Ana said, her voice resolute despite her tears. "I need to be alone." Stepping from the carriage and walking to her door, Ana wondered what kind of a home Kingston was to her anymore.

Devin, the butler, opened the door the moment Ana arrived in front of it. Biting her lip, Ana remembered the day Devin came to work for her. Prescott and Bridget had both left Jamaica, leaving Devin without a job. Ana had welcomed him with open arms, but now his face only brought more sadness. Closing the door behind her, Devin called for someone to fetch Ana a cup of tea.

"Come, Miss Annie," he said. "Let's get you off your feet."

Ana smiled sardonically imagining what she must look like. A knock at the door arrested her movement. "That'll be Admiral Delaney," she said emotionlessly. "Tell him his services were refused once already." She stood, rooted to the same spot as Devin hurried to obey her request, waiting to hear Shane's attempt to get passed the butler.

"My God," Devin gasped. "Miss Annie?"

Shocked back to action by the panic in Devin's voice, Annie turned to see what the Admiral had done to him. However, instead of seeing Delaney's perfectly manicured visage, she stared into fathomless black eyes that visited her in her dreams. In an instant, despair turned to elation to intense worry. The mask had fallen from those dark pools, and Ana saw agony. Her own eyes snapped open. She saw blood . . . she saw his arm clutching his side. Rushing forward, the lady caught the pirate as he fell to his knees. "Jack?"

TBC

I know what you're going to say . . . this cliffy is even more cruel than the first one, but come on now, don't you all expect this from me by now? Anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm beyond happy to know that so many of you were waiting for the continuation of this series. I will strive not to dissappoint you. Thank you so very much for the reviews, I look forward to your feedback about this chapter!


	3. Bloody Bad Timing

Disclaimer: I do not own Jack, Norry, Ana or anyone else you may recognize.

**Chapter Three: "Bloody Bad Timing"**

"That'll be Admiral Delaney," Ana said emotionlessly. "Tell him his services were refused once already."

"My God," Devin gasped. "Miss Annie?"

Shocked back to action by the panic in her butler's voice, Annie turned to see what the Admiral had done to him. However, instead of seeing Delaney's perfectly manicured visage, she stared into fathomless black eyes that visited her in her dreams. In an instant, Ana's despair turned to elation to intense worry. The mask had fallen from those dark pools, and Ana saw agony. Her own eyes snapped open. She saw blood . . . she saw his arm clutching his side. Rushing forward, the lady caught the pirate as he fell to his knees. "Jack?"

"Anamaria." A cough cut short his words, wracking his body and bringing fresh blood to his lips. The pirate's black shirt hung in shreds, barely concealing the tangle of cuts and bruises on his torso. The dark fabric was soaked through with blood around the nasty, bleeding wound on his side. His boots were caked in mud and his hair was wet and matted to his head.

"Devin, help me," Ana said, slinging the injured man's arm around her shoulders and attempting to pull him to his feet. The pirate's body trembled ever so slightly at the exertion and Ana's heart nearly broke for the suffering in his face. "Devin?"

The butler had thrown the door shut and was standing with his back to the wall as though he wished he could sink beneath the wood and disappear altogether. Staring back at Ana, Devin's face was an amalgamation of disbelief and horror. He was a proper butler having, after all, worked in the Admiral's house. A strange man coming to the door covered in dirt, grim, and blood in the middle of the night was definitely not proper. Devin was confused and probably a little frightened, but at that particular moment, Ana did not give a damn. She did not have time to explain a very complex relationship to a butler.

"For the love of God, Devin! Don't just stand there. Help me!" she demanded. The pirate winced slightly at the volume of her voice. "Now, Devin," Ana hissed, locking her brown eyes on the butler and daring him to disobey her.

Apparently knowing better than to cross his mistress when she was angry, Devin took hold of the pirate's other arm. Painfully slow, the trio made their way towards the staircase. Dozens of questions swirled around inside of Ana's head, but she voiced none of them. Instead she whispered soothingly to the pirate, telling him that everything would be okay. Telling him that he was safe. She fought desperately to keep the trepidation from her own voice. Would it be okay? By the time they made it to the foot of the stairs, Devin and Ana were supporting nearly all of the pirate's weight. He was breathing heavily and sweat began to dot his forehead. Was he safe?

A loud knock on the door suddenly reverberated throughout the room. The pirate's body tensed. Ana exchanged glances with the butler. Devin's eyes were nearly a wide as the full moon hanging in the night sky. Ana's heart hammered against her chest. "Answer the door, Devin," she said, forcing herself to speak calmly.

"But, Miss Annie – "

"Answer it and get rid of them," Ana repeated her request. Nodding, Devin hurried to the door. "Come on, Jack," Ana said, leading the pirate away from the stairs to the parlor. There, at least, he would be out of sight of anyone that would enter the foyer. "Just a few more steps," she whispered encouragingly, as she helped the pirate to the davenport. The ivory upholstered sofa had once belonged to her husband's aunt. In all the years since its construction, not the tiniest speck of dirt had been allowed to find repose on the finely woven surface. Tonight, the fabric was almost immediately stained with the blood of a pirate.

"Miss Annie?" Devin appeared from around the corner, anxiety drawing lines on his face.

"Yes," Ana said, her attention never wavering from the pirate's face.

"It's – It's Captain Norrington."

The pirate's eyes shot open. "Bloody bad timing," he said, his voice a halting whisper and his lips curling into a familiar devilish grin.

Ana smiled in spite of herself. His body was battered and bruised, but his spirit had managed to come through unscathed. Jack Sparrow had come back to her, and the warmth bubbling up from her stomach was undeterred by the manner of his appearance. Still, there was James to deal with. Clearing her throat, Ana banished the memories of kisses and stolen moments with Jack, and set her mind to finding a way to get rid of an officer in His Majesty's Navy. With a strong sense of déjà vu Ana rose to her feet to meet Norrington. "James," she said simply.

The officer, having removed his hat, was fidgeting nervously with a piece of brocade that needed to be re-stitched. His light brown hair had begun to disengage itself from his pigtail, his uniform jacket and vest were unbuttoned, and the dark blue tie hung loose from his neck. She had never seen James so disheveled. Facing enemy broadsides or locked in a man to man fight with a vicious criminal, James Norrington was always been completely in command of his emotions. Very rare was the day when the officer's face was marred by grief, sadness, fear or worry. Tonight, however, that same imperturbable face was twisted by all four. His light blue eyes hesitantly met Ana's. "Annie," he said softly. "I'm sorry to trouble you so late, but . . ." he paused, reaffixing his eyes on the hat in his hands. "I couldn't leave things the way they were left." Looking up again, he said, "I loved your brother too."

The feeling of warm happiness that Ana had been enjoying abruptly disappeared. The officer's words flew across the room and hit her heart with the force of a hundred stones. Loved? No wonder Norrington looked so unkempt. He was already mourning for her brother. He thought Prescott was never coming back. Lifting her chin, Ana said, "Do not say loved, James. Prescott isn't dead."

A sad smile passed over James' lips. "I would not presume to say that I knew Prescott as well as you, but I knew him well enough. He never took that cross off, Annie, not for any reason."

He didn't. In all the years since Findley's death, Prescott had worn two crosses. One was silver with a tiny emerald in the center, given to him by his sister after he passed his lieutenant's examination. The other was smaller, and gold, given to him with his younger brother's dying breath. Nearly fifteen years had passed since Findley's passing. Prescott had seen battles at sea and on land too numerous to recall. He had been shot at, imprisoned, and even branded a pirate. He had never lost the small pendant before. What, short of his own demise, would cause Prescott to take the cross off now? No! Ana's mind had wandered to a place that she did not want to be. Prescott was fine. Ana's thoughts drifted to the injured pirate in her parlor. Well, maybe not fine. But, Prescott was alive. He had to be.

"No, you do not know my brother as well as I do," Ana said, her throat suddenly very dry. "He is alive, James. I know he is."

Norrington's face fell. His shoulders slumped. "I should never have let him go," he said so quietly that Ana was unsure the officer spoke at all.

"What are you talking about?"

"That night, the last night he spent in Kingston. I spoke with him. I knew what he was going to do. I knew he was saying goodbye, and I did nothing."

Ana took James' hand in her own. "I do not doubt your ability, James," she said, a smile in her voice. "But, what do you really think you could have done? Prescott always had – has a way of getting what he wants."

The officer laughed.

"I have not given up on Prescott, nor will I," Ana paused, meeting Norrington's eyes. "Nor should you."

Norrington nodded. "I suppose – "

What James supposed, Ana never did get to find out. His words were completely drowned out by the piercing sound of a woman's scream and a loud crash coming from the parlor.

"Sarah," Ana said, realizing that she hadn't the time to let her maid know there was a pirate in the sitting room. "Damn her to hell," Ana swore under her breath. James, chivalrous as ever, would never miss the chance to rush to a woman's aid. Ana, in turn, was forced to follow him to the parlor, her mind already scrambling for some rational excuse for having a pirate in her house . . . again.

In the sitting room, Sarah was on her hands and knees trying to clean up the broken remains of tea cups and saucers. Ana's eyes darted back and forth across the room. Blood still stained the davenport, though a throw pillow had been hastily placed over the spot, but Jack was nowhere to be seen. "Are you quite alright, Miss?" James began, leaning down to help Sarah to her feet.

"Oh, yes, Sir," Sarah said, her freckled cheeks flushing nearly to match her red hair.

"What happened?" Norrington asked.

"I heard you arrive, Sir," Sarah responded. "So, I thought to make some tea. I was just bringing it out when I saw . . ." her voice trailed off and her eyes wandered to the empty sofa.

"You saw what, Sarah," Ana said, her voice hard as she moved to stand between James and the soiled couch.

The maid's eyes widened. "A – A mouse," she stammered. "Silly really, but it startled me so." Sarah bowed her head as though terribly embarrassed.

"Did you see where this mouse went, Sarah," Ana asked.

"It, um, ran past me," the maid said hesitantly. "Down to the kitchen, I should think."

"Very well, we shall deal with it presently, but I do not think we need to trouble Captain Norrington with such a trivial matter," Ana said turning to James. "It was good of you to come and see me," she said, walking back towards the front door. "Perhaps we can help each other keep hope."

"Captain Norrington, is everything alright? I heard a scream."

Ana stopped speaking and turned her gaze towards the unfamiliar voice. Her eyebrow arched at the sight of the slight blonde woman standing in the doorway. The young woman's long tresses were piled precariously on the top of her head, kept in place by a mauve flowered hat. Her slender figure was somewhat overpowered by the huge flowing gown she wore. Brown eyes flashed with youthful excitement. Crossing her arms and smiling suggestively, Ana regarded a suddenly flustered James Norrington with a look that begged to know "Just who is _she_?"

"Yes, a minor furry mishap. Everything's fine," Norrington murmured.

The blonde woman pursed her lips as though disappointed.

James cleared his throat. "Anamaria Tarret, may I introduce Miss Elizabeth Swann."

"The governor's daughter," Ana said, stepping forward to take the younger woman's hand. "What brings you to Kingston?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Fornin's Christmas ball," Elizabeth answered, a further arching of her blonde eyebrow indicating that the governor's daughter recognized Ana's surname. Plenty of gossip for the ride home, Ana mused.

"Of course."

James cleared his throat a second time. "Miss Swann, I'm certain your father would much rather you wait for me in the carriage."

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth turned to leave. "I'm sure he would, at that. A pleasure meeting you Miss Tarret."

"Well, well, James," Ana said, as soon as the younger woman was out of earshot.

"Well, nothing, Annie," James insisted. "She only accompanied her father because she found out that they would have to travel to Kingston aboard the ship that was escorting _Loyalty_. Been going on about pirates and the chance to meet one ever since we left Port Royal."

"And you were heartbroken to have to listen to her, I'm sure."

"Good evening, Miss Tarret," James said, heading to the door without responding to Ana's insinuation.

"Goodnight, Captain Norrington," she said, closing the door behind the officer. "Sarah! Devin!" she shouted nearly the instant the door was shut.

"Yes, mum," Sarah appeared from the parlor, with the butler close on her heels.

"Well, where is he?" Ana demanded

"The kitchen, mum. I'm sorry I screamed. It's just . . . I didn't expect – "

"Yes, yes, Sarah," Ana brushed past the maid towards the kitchen. "Nothing to be done about it now. Go upstairs and make the guestroom ready."

"He'll be staying with us again, mum?" Sarah asked, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face.

"Again!?" Devin stammered. "You mean to tell me – "

"Devin," Ana sighed stalking down the hall towards the kitchen. "I do not have time for you to be shocked and appalled. A man is bleeding in my house and I do not intend to put him out. So, I'm going to tend to his wounds, and you are going to help me . . . Now, Devin!"

In the kitchen, Jack was seated at the small servant's table, his head in one hand the other hand still holding his side. He had taken off his hat, the hat that Ana gave to him. "Your friend Norrington can't seem t'get enough o' me," he said, laughing softly.

"And what's more, he's brought the governor to Kingston with him," Ana said, taking a seat across from Jack. "Boil some water, Devin, and find some bandages and a needle and thread."

Wordlessly, the butler did as he was bade.

"Sorry 'bout scaring your maid," Jack said, lifting his head to look Ana in the eye.

The lady silently chided herself for forgetting how handsome the pirate was. "Sarah's happy to see you. After all, she still firmly believes that you and I are involved in a completely inappropriate relationship.

Jack held Ana in his dark eyes, smirking as though he were visualizing some of the most inappropriate relations he could have with her.

"Here you are, Miss Annie," Devin set a pile of bandages, a needle, thread, and a bowl of hot water on the table, disapproval evident in his tone.

"Thank you. That will be all."

Kneeling on the floor next to the pirate, Ana took his hand away from the wound in his side and peeled back his shirt. A perfunctory examination revealed a matching pair of cuts. One on the pirate's stomach, the other on his back. Jack had lost a lot of blood, but the cut, at least, was clean. No sign of infection. Dipping a bandage in the bowl of water, Ana gazed up at the pirate. Jack's eyes were closed and he appeared to be using all of his will power to ignore the lady. "This will hurt," she said.

"It already hurts, luv" he said, opening his eyes. "Doubt you could make it much worse."

Despite the nonchalance of his words, Ana noticed Jack grip the sides of the chair, his knuckles going white. Hating herself for causing him more pain, Ana wanted to work as quickly as possible. Yet, at the same time, she wished to take forever, because the sooner she finished the sooner she would have to ask him what happened. She would have to ask him what happened to Prescott. Shaking her head, Ana went back to stitching up the cut. Her hesitation, however, did not go unnoticed by Jack.

"Somethin' wrong, luv?" he said, no doubt trying to focus his thoughts on something other than the pain.

Ana drew a deep breath. "Prescott sailed with you, on _Loyalty_?"

"Aye."

"James found _Loyalty_. Said she was a ghost ship."

"I know."

"Jack, where's my brother?" she asked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.

A shadow descended over the pirate's face, and his black eyes darkened. "I don't know."

TBC

I know, I know. It was awful of me to make you all wait for this update. Bad author! Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait, I really will try to get Chapter 4 up much quicker. As always, I'd love to know what you think of this. I especiallywant to knowwhat you think about Lizzie showing up. As soon as I decided to make Ana a member of Kingston's upper class, I wondered what it would be like for the two ladies to meet. So, I put Liz in to see what would happen. I think you'll see more of her. Well, as you all know, I crave feedback, so please leave me a review on your way out!


	4. Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from PotC.

a/n: Sorry to make you all wait so long for this chapter. I'm moving this week, so packing and other real life issues have been taking time away from writing. Like I said, very sorry. My life should be returning to normal by next week, and then I will be able to devote much more time to this story!

**Chapter Four "Devil and the Deep Blue Sea"**

"Not true," came an unfamiliar voice from behind. "You lads'll pay for it with your lives."

Trapped. In front of him lie at least a hundred foot drop to the rocky shores of Jamaica. To the rear, a nameless, faceless foe who was doubtless ready to fire at the slightest provocation. Once again the former officer was faced with the devil or the deep blue sea. Prescott vaguely remembered hearing the theory that in the last moments of a man's life, when he is certain he is about to die, his entire life supposedly flashes before his eyes. All that flashed in front of Prescott's eyes in that moment, however, was standing in _Loyalty's_ Captain's quarters telling Jack Sparrow that "X" hardly ever marked the spot and the few instances when it did only meant trouble. He was inexplicably filled with the desire to tell Jack "I told you so" just one last time before they went to meet their maker.

"On your feet," the voice commanded.

Using slight of hand that Prescott had witnessed on many occasions in the taverns of Tortuga, Jack quickly concealed the ruby from sight. Slowly, as not to incite any hostile response, all three men rose to their feet. Daniels, being the only one on the opposite side of Morgan's coffin was also the only one not standing with his back to their adversary. The young pirate was frightened. Prescott chanced a glance at Jack. The Captain's eyes were veiled, but he was worried, that much was obvious. Prescott's hand automatically came to rest on the hilt of his cutlass.

"Turn around."

Still moving slowly, Jack and Prescott turned to face the threat. Despite not recognizing the voice, Prescott half expected James Norrington to step into the moonlight followed by an entire battalion of marines. Prescott half hoped to see James Norrington, that he could have handled. Instead, men not unlike the ones in his own crew stepped out from the trees. Seven men, swords at their sides and all carrying pistols, naturally. After a moment's hesitation, a tall man with dark curly hair and a moustache emerged from the shadows. This man, dressed in fine clothes and appearing to have bathed at least once in his life, was obviously the leader. He carried only a sheathed sword.

"Son of a . . . ," Prescott breathed.

The tall man's lips curled into a grin, partially hidden by his thick moustache and his green eyes glittered maliciously in the moonlight. "Ah, it seems, Captain Tarret, that you remember me," he sneered.

Prescott could feel Jack's eyes on him, no doubt searching his face for some indication of their enemy's identity. Prescott, however, was not thinking about Jack. He was re-living days gone by in which he had seen to it that this viper was sent as far from civilization as was humanly possible. His Majesty's decommissioned sloop of war _Vanth_, anchored nearly a mile off the coast of Kingston's harbor, had been transformed from a sleek seafaring vessel into one of the vilest floating prisons in the British Empire. Men convicted of loathsome crimes, for which even death was not punishment enough, were sent to _Vanth_, in order that they suffer the violence they inflicted on others before being allowed the sweet repose of the grave. This was the place Captain Prescott Tarret had sent the man now standing in front of him. The idea being, of course, that he never return. Unfortunately, Prescott realized, that had not been the case. The man had somehow returned and now the only thought that managed to meander it's way through Prescott's fury was of Annie. He had to live through this, and somehow find a way to warn his little sister.

"Who the 'ell are you?" Daniels' voice broke the silence.

"I should ask you the same question," the man replied. "Seeing as I know this doesn't belong to you," he gestured to Morgan's desecrated grave.

"Don't belong to you neither," the young pirate insisted setting one foot defiantly on the edge of Morgan's casket.

The man chuckled softly. "Gates," he addressed one of his compatriots. "Silence this boy."

Before Prescott or Jack could so much as understand the implications of those words, the man named Gates trained his pistol on Daniels and fired. The peaceful night exploded with the shot from the gun. The young pirate's blood splattered Prescott's face as his lifeless body crumpled, landing on top of Morgan's open coffin. "Jack!" Prescott heard his own voice call out a warning as the pirate Captain drew his sword and lunged at their foe, but Jack, deafened by his anger at the loss of a crewman, did not hear. The intruder gestured with his hand and two more pistol balls sliced through the air. Jack neatly avoided both, but was caught completely unprepared for the next assault. Jack's back was turned to his opponent for only an instant but the man, having drawn his own cutlass, used Jack's preoccupation to his advantage. In one decisive motion he plunged his sword into the pirate's flesh. Jack's eyes went wide. The blade had gone in his back and was now protruding from his abdomen, covered in the Captain's blood. Snickering, the man retrieved his sword and sent the pirate stumbling back towards Prescott, who barely managed to catch Jack before he went diving over the cliff.

In that instant, Prescott did not see his life replay in front of his eyes, regardless of certainty of his impending death. Instead, he saw clearly the only option he had left. He saw the only way to save his Captain, and the only way to protect his sister. Jack's hand clutched Prescott's shoulder but he was fighting a losing battle to stand on his own. His body trembled in shock. Prescott tightened his grip on the pirate's arm. Despite his best efforts, the former hero of the King's Navy could not help but see Findley's face when he looked into Jack's eyes. Prescott squared his jaw. He would be damned if he was going to lose another brother while he still drew breath.

"Jack," Prescott said, hoping that the Captain would be the only one to hear his words. "It's our old dilemma, again." He nodded his head almost imperceptibly in the direction of the bay.

The pirate's eyes locked on Prescott's face. The dark orbs were tinged with grief and pain, but they were clear and understanding. "Scotty . . . what about . . . you?" Jack asked, his voice hitching.

"I'm lost," Prescott said. "Just find my sister and keep her safe."

"But – "

Prescott ripped the small gold cross from around his neck and pushed it into the pirate's blood soaked hand. Findley had given his big brother that cross with his dying breath. Prescott gave it now to Jack, as he knew, just as certainly as Findley had, that he was going to die. "Go with God, brother," he said before pushing the pirate Captain over the edge of the cliff, down to the churning water below. It was Jack's only chance. Their foe would have finished what he started and killed him. Jack loved the sea and she seemed to return his affections. He had to survive and reach Annie. He must. "Courage Captain …" Prescott murmured under his breath.

"That was foolish."

"Maybe, but when choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea, he's always had more luck with the sea," Prescott said, trying to keep his voice aloof.

"If the fall doesn't kill him, the swim back to your dear ship will. And, even if he does make it, he'll find no one there to help him."

"The crew."

"Dead as you'll soon be."

Prescott straightened and turned to face his enemy, his blue eyes barely holding back a raging storm. Black Charlie Boothe was the product of indiscretion between his mother and a stable hand. Born of a sinful union, poison was said to run in his veins. A fact believed by most everyone who ever knew Boothe or any of his family. He was the pirate who lived up to the bedtime stories. He was the murderer who took pride his profession. He was the thief who would steal possessions along with innocence and dignity. His descendents would be robbers and criminals of every kind. Some day, one would even murder the leader of a country not yet born.

Black Charlie Boothe was the bastard son of Maryanne Morgan, wife of Sir George Morgan, brother to the late Captain Henry Morgan. He was also the one man against whom Prescott had used his career in the Navy to gain personal satisfaction.

Boothe re-sheathed his sword and stepped closer to the former officer. "You've been rather difficult to track down, Captain Tarret. I had not foreseen your abrupt change in profession," he said taking in Prescott's appearance, black trousers and a leather coat taking the place of starched white breeches and a uniform jacket. "But I am a patient man, I did, after all, have to wait six years before I could escape from that floating hulk you consigned me to. What was a little longer?"

"I'll see you back there," Prescott said.

"Oh, I doubt it. You don't have a commission to hide behind this time."

"I don't need a commission to send you to the devil."

"Maybe not," Boothe clasped his hands behind his back and started to walk away from Prescott. "I've always wondered, Captain. If it had been anyone else, would you still have taken such an interest in my being brought to justice?"

The man named Gates stepped forward grabbing Prescott roughly by the arm and propelling him in the same direction that Boothe was heading.

Charles stopped, and smiled a smile completely lacking any warmth. "How is your dear sister?"

88888

"Jack, where's my brother?" Anamaria asked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.

A shadow descended over the pirate's face, and his black eyes darkened. "I don't know."

His words seeped into her ears and weighed down an already heavy heart. How could he not know? Prescott and he had sailed together. If something had happened why wouldn't Jack know about it? Excuses and rationalizations swirled through Ana's mind, but she was having trouble believing any of them. Jack was injured. If Prescott was okay then he never would have left Jack to fend for himself in this state. He would have been the one to get the pirate help. Unless, Prescott was unable to do anything for Jack. Unless her brother was … Ana swallowed. She could not even bring herself to think it. She had a pirate bleeding in her kitchen. Norrington had given her a cross that Prescott would never take off. The _Loyalty_ was a ghost ship. All of the facts pointed towards one conclusion. The conclusion that James had already drawn. But, she could not believe it. She refused to believe it.

"The guest room is ready, mum," Sarah said, entering the kitchen.

Ana sought the pirate's face. His dark eyes were closed. He had finally succumbed to the pain. "Devin," Ana said, slowly rising from her kneeling position next to Jack. "Take him upstairs, will you."

"With all due respect, Miss Annie. If you want that man sleeping in your house, you will have to get him upstairs yourself."

Turning on her heels, Ana's eyes blazed as she stared, disbelieving, at her butler. Flying across the room, she drew back her hand and slapped Devin with all the force she could muster. His head snapped to one side. When he stood straight again, his hand covered his cheek. Not satisfied that the butler understood the severity of the situation, Ana brought her hand down hard against the undamaged side of his face.

"You once worked for my brother," she hissed, her voice vehement. "He gave up his life and his promotion for that man. If you dishonor him, you dishonor Prescott."

Shocked, Devin did as Ana asked.

"Sarah," Ana said as soon as the butler was on his way, carrying precious cargo up the stairs. "We still have rum in the house, do we not?"

"Yes, mum."

"I'm going to need some."

"Of course," Sarah started to walk away, but stopped just short of the door. Hesitantly, she turned to face her mistress. "What happened to him, mum? Does he know where your brother is?"

"I hope so."

TBC

As you all know by now, I love hearing your comments. So, please don't forget to leave a review!


	5. Placing Blame

Disclaimer: PotC doesn't belong to me.

A/N: I know that I have been absent for entirely too long. I won't bore you with excuses, let's just say my husband and I moved into our first house the week of Christmas, and it ended up taking a lot longer than expected. I hate it when real life gets in the way of writing. So, I offer my humblest and most sincere apologies. But, while my computer was down, I took pen to paper and continued the story. So, I hope this chapter was worth the wait!

Chapter Five: "Placing Blame"

Perched on the edge of a chair, drawn up near the bed in the guest room, Ana cupped her hands around a cup of hot buttered rum and breathed in the liquid's spicy scent. She had hoped the drink would drown the voice in the back of her head. The voice that told her this was all somehow her fault. The voice that reminded her that Prescott would never have given up being Admiral to keep his word to Jack Sparrow if she hadn't of dragged him to Tortuga with her. Her brother's life would not be in jeopardy if not for her. Maybe that's why she hadn't seen him in two years.

She had always convinced herself that Prescott stayed away simply because it was too dangerous for him to return to Kingston. He had been a prominent figure in society. He would be easily recognized by most of the townsfolk, not to mention the military. At least, that's what Ana had been telling herself. Deep down she knew that Prescott, should he want to, could slip in and out of the crowded city undetected. When that thought surfaced, Ana beat it back into submission by reasoning that Prescott was simply looking out for her. Or maybe, he was trying to keep her from carrying on relations with a pirate. Much as she wanted to, Ana never really believed those excuses either. Perhaps, anger and resentment kept her brother at sea. He had always loved his chosen profession. When in command of a King's ship, her brother came alive. Becoming Admiral had seen all of his hard work finally rewarded, and he gave it all up to keep a man she cared for from the noose. Prescott threw his dream away for her. He had every right to bear her ill will, she destroyed his life, to say nothing of what she had caused the pirate to live through.

Staring intently at the pirate's sleeping form, Ana thought of all the pain he had felt because of her. She remembered _la Cerradura_, and it's tyrannical commandant. She saw a bullet fired from her own husband's gun rip through his flesh. Extending her hand, she traced the brand on his arm. He had been trying to rescue her when he was taken on that ship and his sins were burned into his skin. Now healed, the brand stood out white against the pirate's bronzed skin. Retrieving her hand, Ana wondered if a man could ever really heal from a wound like that. Could Jack ever see that scar and not relive the horrors of that ship? Jack's breathing was shallow and his face glistened with sweat. He had been locked in a dream for the last few moments. Was he remembering those same things now? Was he blaming Ana, just as she blamed herself? Maybe avoiding Kingston had been the only way the pirate could escape any more bodily harm.

Maybe, the pirate simply did not feel for Ana the way she felt for him. She sighed. He had kissed her in the moonlight, given her a necklace, and kissed her again when he believed he was not long for this world. They had not exactly shared a lot to time together, and he certainly had not courted her. She did not even know his real name, where he was born, or how old he was. Ana shook her head. The man was a pirate after all. How many women he must have kissed. Why should Ana think herself to be anything more than another in a long line of female "acquaintances?" How many exotic gifts he must have given away. So he had seen the tiger's eye pendant, that she wore to this day, and thought of her. How many other women did he think of when he saw other trinkets?

Ana wanted to wake him, to free him from whatever torment he found in his dreams. She wanted to demand to know where he had been these two long years. She wanted to know if she meant so little to him. But, the longer he stayed asleep, the longer she could revel in ignorance. Once Jack woke up, she would also have to ask him again what had happened to bring him to her house last night. He had to know something about Prescott, have some inkling of where her brother could be or what had befallen him. She wanted desperately to know, but she knew the news would not be optimistic. She kept drawing the same conclusion: if Prescott was okay, Jack would not be lying in her guestroom dirty and covered in his own blood.

Placing the empty cup on the floor, Ana leaned back in her chair. She pulled Prescott's cross from her pocket and held it in the air between her and the pirate. The chain wound and unwound. The tiny charm twirled around and around, catching the dawn's light. Ana sniffed back tears that were beginning to form. She did not want to cry for Prescott. Not yet, even though all evidence pointed towards the fact that she would never see her big brother again. She wasn't ready to let go.

"Where did you get that?" the pirate's quiet voice traveled up from the bed.

Anamaria did not meet his deep, soulful eyes, though she could feel them searching her face. She simply kept her gaze focused on the cross. "It's Prescott's. They found it aboard _Loyalty_." She paused closing her eyes. "He would never take it off."

"Yes, he would."

The lady's eyes instantly sprung back open. Moving, again, to the edge of her seat, she regarded the pirate. "What?"

Jack nodded. Laying one hand protectively across his injured side, the pirate struggled to sit up. Try as he might, he could not hide the pain in his face. Ana's heart hurt for him, but she did not lend her aid. Jack Sparrow owed her an explanation. He had to tell her what had happened to her brother. He had to explain where he had been. Why hadn't he once tried to contact her?

"He gave it to me," Jack said breathlessly, as he leaned back against the headboard.

"To _you_?" The pirate lowered his eyes. Ana could not see the distress in his expression, but it was there. She had not meant for her question to sound so condescendingly cruel. She did not want to hurt Jack, but she could not help but wonder. Why after fifteen years had Prescott given Findley's cross to a pirate? Ana shook her head. As soon as she had that thought, she banished it from her mind. Jack was no more "just a pirate" to Prescott that he was to her. "I'm sorry," she amended. "It's just … it was Findley's. Prescott's worn it for so long."

"Since Findley died," Jack said, his eyes still downcast.

Ana extended her hand. "Here," she said, holding out the cross. "When did he give it to you."

The pirate took the cross and put it over his head. The golden charm lay on his bare chest, over his heart. "In Port Royal," he said.

"Why were you in Port Royal?"

Jack reached for a muddy, leather pouch on the table next to the bed. Saying nothing, he removed an object from the pouch and held it out for Ana to see. All the air rushed from her lungs. Her mouth went dry. Jack held in his hand a ruby, nearly the size of a walnut. The rising sun bounced off of it's facets casting an ominous red glimmer of light around the guestroom. Ana slid back in her chair, away from the jewel.

"It's the Heart – "

"I know what it is," Ana murmured.

Jack's narrowed eyes met Ana's, full of questions.

"I mean, I've heard of it. Hasn't everyone?" The lady's heart raced. She rose hastily from her seat, heading for the door. "It's almost morning. I'll see to it that cook fixes you breakfast, and I'll have Sarah ready a bath for you," she pointed to the door on the other side of the guestroom. "In there," she added. "I … I'll see you … soon." Once in the hallway, Ana pulled the door closed behind her and leaned her back against the wood. Bringing her hand to her chest, she expelled a deep sigh.

"Are you alright, mum?" Sarah asked, as she reached the top of the stairs.

"Yes. Fine." Ana speedily collected herself. "Captain Sparrow requires a bath."

Sarah smiled. "Don't you mean, Mr. Smith?"

"We both know you never believed that was his name." Ana hardly heard her own words. Her only thought was to get to the solace of her room without arousing her maid's suspicions.

"No, I suppose not."

"When you've finished bringing the water, see to it that cook makes him something to eat," Ana said, moving down the hall towards her bedroom.

"Yes, mum."

With no further delay, Ana locked her bedroom door behind her. Back against the wall, she sunk down to the cold floor. It wasn't possible. The Heart of Captain Morgan, the notorious pirate turned privateer turned governor of Montego Bay, could not possibly be in her house. She held her face in her hands. The scarlet gemstone, the largest cut ruby in existence, was legendary throughout the Caribbean, maybe throughout the world. While he was still involved in a life of piracy, Henry Morgan was said to have discovered the stone in a secret bay where he used to make berth to repair his ship. Once he received his commission as a privateer, the ruby was locked away somewhere and never seen by men again. It was all but forgotten, until Morgan's death. Rumors circulated that Morgan's last request was to be buried with his most prized possession. Only one dedicated servant knew the location of the ruby, and the location of Morgan's tomb. Upon completing his master's request, the servant took his own life, taking the secret of the ruby with him.

Treasure hunters from all edges of the map had traveled to the West Indies to find the fabled gem, to no avail. Fantastic ghost stories began to be told about the loyal servant, or Morgan's own spirit, still guarding the treasure from beyond the grave. Some believed the location of the ruby somehow changed with the setting of the sun. Others thought the stone was in the Fountain of Youth or with El Dorado's gold. Only one man had ever claimed to know the location of the Heart of Captain Morgan: Charles Boothe, the famous privateer's illegitimate brother. Boothe was also the only man who claimed rights to the stone. As Morgan's only surviving relative, Black Charlie, as he had come to be known, believed the gem should have gone to him on his brother's passing. Of course, Mr. Boothe had no more idea where the stone was buried, than anyone else.

Ana had heard all of the stories, as had many of the well-to-do women of Kingston. Tales of an overgrown ruby tended to capture the attention of wealthy, bored aristocrats almost as completely as tales of affairs and illegitimate children. The one difference being, Ana had actually seen the gem. In the hands of Charles Boothe, Ana had once come face to face with the infamous stone.

Almost twelve years ago, Anamaria had first attended Admiral and Mrs. Fornin's Christmas gala. Twelve years ago, her brother had taken a bullet to save the Admiral's life. Fornin showed his gratitude by making Prescott post captain, giving him command of _Loyalty_, and making sure he and his sister were on the invitation list for every society party in Kingston. Prescott embraced his position as Captain. He loved his ship. Prescott hated parties, but he always went and Ana was only too happy to accompany him. The first Christmas soiree Ana went to, which took place shortly after Henry Morgan's death, was what Kingston women called "delightfully scandalous." Among the distinguished guests had been none other than Black Charlie Boothe.

_Ana laughed inwardly at the bubbly blonde that stood in front of her brother, just begging him to ask her to dance. Poor girl was only trying to be seen with the most dashing Captain in the King's Navy, which Prescott most certainly was. Batting her perfectly blue eyes, and pouting her perfectly painted lips the blonde had taken hold of Prescott's arm saying that she would "simply cry for ages" if she did not get the chance to twirl round the ballroom with Captain Tarret._

_Prescott sighed, nodding reluctantly. Downing his glass of Madiera in one swallow, he let the blonde lead him out to the floor. Prescott hated to dance. Laughing at her big brother's discomfort, Ana wandered out to the veranda. The full moon proudly illuminated the harbor town as though it knew what a grand party Fornin hosted and wanted to look it's best._

_"A girl as young and beautiful as yerself can't possibly be 'ere alone."_

_Ana turned as a man with dark curly hair came to stand next to her. Wearing a particularly gaudy outfit, he stared at Ana through venomously green eyes. Charles Boothe, a man with a horrid reputation and shameful background had, for some reason, the audacity to show up at Fornin's party in his late brother's stead. Fornin and his wife, in hopes of avoiding a scene, had allowed the brigand to stay, on the condition that he conducted himself in a gentlemanly manner. Prescott had whispered that Boothe wouldn't know a gentleman if one hit him in the face. Taking in his unseemly stare and surly grin, Ana was inclined to agree with her brother._

_"Your right," Ana replied. "I'm not."_

_"Well, Miss …"_

_Ana raised her eyebrow. Clearly Boothe was waiting for her to tell him her name, a bit of information she had no intention of sharing._

_Boothe cleared his throat. "Well, Miss, yer alone right now. Perhaps I can keep ye company until yer escort returns."_

_"I prefer my own company, thank you," Ana said raising her chin._

_Taking hold of Ana's wrist, Boothe stepped closer. In his other hand, he held an enormous gemstone. "Listen, young Miss," he hissed. "Ye know what this is?"_

_Ana nodded, trying to ignore the lack of circulation beyond her captured wrist. "Your brother's ruby."_

_"My ruby," he corrected. "It's priceless, ye know. If I were you, I'd be very glad to know me."_

_"No amount of wealth can compensate for a lack of character."_

_Boothe's lip curled. His grip on her wrist tightened. "I'll show ye character …"_

_"Unhand the lady," a commanding voice caused Boothe to step back, relinquishing his hold of Ana's hand._

_"Ah, so the little vixen's with you, then?"_

_"That's irrelevant," the officer answered, a lieutenant judging by his uniform. "What matters is that she is not with you."_

_Boothe cackled suggestively as he turned to walk away, concealing the ruby from the officer's sight. "Have it yer way."_

_Ana expelled the breath she had been holding. Turning to the lieutenant, she smiled. "My thanks, Mr …"_

_"Norrington, James Norrington. And it was my pleasure."_

Less than a week later, Black Charlie Boothe was arrested. He ended up in a prison ship off the coast of Jamaica before Christmas. Due to his claims about deserving to inherit his brother's fortune, Boothe's residence and grounds were searched in hopes of finding the ruby. It was never found. Most speculated that he'd never really had the gem, or if he had, he simply returned it to the sight of Morgan's grave to keep it away from the legions of treasure hunters seeking the stone. The Heart of Captain Morgan became the stuff of stories, and Boothe was all but forgotten. For a few months, he had lived on in Ana's nightmares, but after that, he had hardly colored her thoughts at all. She had begun to believe, as most of the Caribbean, that the mysterious ruby would never be found. Why after all this time had it suddenly come back into her life?

Jack Sparrow. That was why.

Rising to her feet, Ana left her room and headed back down the hall. She could not believe that she had started to blame herself for this fiasco. Sure, the pirate had come to her aid in the past, but he only got her out of trouble that he, himself, caused. He had brought the Spanish authorities to her door when he showed up in her garden demanding money. She never would have been in Tortuga for her not so dead husband to kidnap, if she had not gone looking for the pirate. He was the one who brought that ruby to her house. Who knows what matter of trouble he had chasing behind him this time. Throwing aside the door, Ana stepped into the guestroom.

"Where is he?" she demanded, seeing only Sarah, making the bed.

The maid pointed to the door off of the guestroom.

Ana nodded, charging forward.

"But, Mum – "

Storming into the smaller room, Ana slammed the door behind her, cutting off whatever Sarah was going to say.

"Alright, Sparrow," she said. "I need to know what's happened and you're going to tell me!"

"Not fond of knockin' are ye, luv?" Jack said, the Cheshire cat grin spreading over his face.

Ana's eyes grew wide. The pirate stared back at her from where he sat in the bathing tub, completely naked.

TBC

Well, do you think she'll react as a Lady or a Pirate? I bet I know how we all would react (nod nod wink wink!) Please let me know what you thought of this, and don't yell too loudly about me being gone for so long!


	6. A Piratess is Born

Disclaimer: PotC doesn't belong to me.

A/N: Well, I ended the last chapter on a bit of a steamy note, and I asked you my beloved reviewers how you thought Ana would react to said situation. Rose of England summed it up perfectly "If she's heading down the path to becomming a pirate she's got to start acting like one right?" Well, I agree (and I stole that line for this chappy too, hope you don't mind). So, I would just like to direct everyone's attention to the fact that the rating for this story has changed, and I sincerely hope that doesn't offend anyone. Alright, that said ...

Chapter Six: A Piratess is Born

Anamaria Tarret had, in her lifetime, seen many things that would shock the sensibilities from most women. She had observed a sea battle from the deck of one of the fighting vessels. She had glimpsed the tortured life of a prisoner of Spain. She had watched men die, killed by disease, sword, bullet and noose. She had even seen her dead husband, living and breathing. All of these things she had borne witness to, unflinching. In spite of all these things, the sight of a pirate Captain's naked, wet body stopped her in her tracks. He was handsome from the neck up. From the neck down, he was breathtaking. His perfectly muscled chest and arms were showcased by his dark bronze skin, and his … She was utterly frozen in place, eyes bulging and mouth hanging open.

"I'll be honest with ye, darling. I wasn't expectin' company," Jack, still smiling, tilted his head to one side, apparently very amused by the whole situation.

Ana blinked, suddenly recovering her ability to perform the absolutely necessary action of exiting the room. Gasping, she spun around so that her back was to the man in the bathing tub. The naked man in the bathing tub. Her eyes clamped shut, but even behind the closed lids she could still see his well toned, tattooed chest and his … She took a deep breath, and opened her eyes. This was horribly improper. She could not be in the same room with a naked pirate. Taking a second deep breath, she mumbled an apology and headed towards the door.

Behind her, Jack chuckled quietly. "Too bad," he said, laughing.

The lady stopped, her hand resting on the brass doorknob. Too bad? Her eyebrow rose. The pirate's laughter ceased as the "click" of the door lock echoed throughout the small room. Ana exhaled, turning once again to face Jack.

If her mind had been functioning at it's normal fevered pace, Ana would have been assuring herself that this was outrageous and no way could she stay in the bathing room with Jack. She would have reminded herself that the pirate had showed up in the dead of night, injured and obviously in trouble. Prescott's plight would have taken precedence over anything else, especially over physical attraction. Ordinarily, she would be demanding an explanation, thinking about the ruby or Black Charlie Boothe. Ordinarily.

However, what was happening now was nothing even close to ordinary. Ana's mind did not seem to be functioning at all. Only her heart was dictating her actions. Only her feelings were telling her what to do. Four years ago, Jack Sparrow had kissed her underneath a full Caribbean moon. Just one kiss, granted the kiss of a pirate is nothing like the kiss of a proper gentleman. Still, it had been just a kiss. One kiss that made Ana dizzy whenever she dwelt on its memory. One kiss that had launched a thousand indecent dreams. One kiss that had meant so much more to Ana. That kiss from that pirate had reawakened her heart. Until Jack Sparrow entered her life she had been a shell of a woman. She hadn't let herself care for anyone since her husband's death, except Jack.

With Jack she did not have to pretend to want the prim and proper life. With Jack she was alive. Ana let her eyes wander around the pirate's nude form. Oh yes, with Jack she was very alive.

"I'm sorry, Captain Sparrow," she purred. "Did I somehow give you the impression that I was leaving?"

Now, it was Jack staring wide eyed and uncomprehending. Now, it was Jack who was frozen, completely speechless, rare for this particular pirate.

Jack's inability to respond only fanned Ana's fire. Her lips curled into a seductive smile, as she slowly unbuttoned the front of her dress. Jack's eyes followed her hands down the front of her body, as more and more of her white chemise came into view. Jack's eyes darted back up to Ana's face. She winked as the dress fell to the floor. Stepping away from the garment, Ana pulled out the pins that held her hair suspended above her head. Long tresses of jet black hair cascaded down framing her smirking face. Ana bit her lip as her hands unconsciously unfastened the buttons of her chemise. She watched as the pirate swallowed, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Her underdress fell to the heap of clothing she had created on the floor.

Ana stood, motionless, in the spot where she had disrobed, wearing only the tiger's eye pendant that had been a gift from Jack. Her hands hung at her sides, and she simply stared into the fathomless dark eyes of the pirate Captain. The Cheshire cat grin returned to his handsome face. "What're ye doin, luv?"

"I have been a widow for five long years," Ana replied.

Water sloshed over the sides of the bathing tub, as the pirate rose to his feet. "Anamaria," he started.

She closed the distance between them, placing two fingers over his lips. Ana's eyes locked on Jack's. Her hand caressed his cheek, sliding down to rest on his shoulder. His skin was slick and hot from the bath water. Standing up on her toes, Ana covered the pirate's lips with her open mouth. He kissed her back, tentatively, still not daring to touch her.

Pulling away, Ana stared at Jack through impassioned eyes. "Are you a pirate, Captain Sparrow?" she said.

He nodded.

"Start acting like one," she challenged.

Something inside of Jack, maybe his last ounce of self-control, seemed to snap. Placing his calloused hands on either side of Ana's face, he kissed her hard on the lips. His tongue greedily explored her mouth, devouring her. Ana wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his damp hair. She kissed him back, urgently, taking in his taste, his scent. Jack's hands left her cheeks, traveling down her back and pulling her close to him so that nearly every inch of their bodies touched. She could feel the rhythm of his heart, pounding within his chest. Without disengaging their kiss, Jack's hands went to the back of her thighs. With a grunt, the pirate lifted Ana off of her feet. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her. Suddenly, her back connected with the wall, breaking the kiss.

Jack pressed his body against Ana's as she gazed again into his eyes. The walls he had so carefully constructed and hidden completely behind, crumbled. Ana saw desire and passion, pain and fear. Ana saw her future. In that instant, she opened her body to a pirate. She opened her soul to Jack Sparrow.

Seeing that the lady had no intention of stopping him, Jack lifted her once again and laid her down on the floor. She let her eyes flutter and close, as he knelt over her. She felt him crawl over top of her and finally cover her with his own weight. She moaned quietly as he cupped her breast in one hand, massaging it and swirling his thumb around her dark nipple. Leaning his head down, he trailed kisses down from the base of her neck to the top of her breast until he took her nipple in his mouth. Ana arched her back, holding his head against her chest, reveling in the warmth of his breath. She felt his hand skate down to her inner thigh. He brushed the sensitive skin gently with the backs of his fingers, each time coming closer to touching her more profoundly. The lady's whole body shook with anticipation. Closer, teasing her with what was about to happen. Closer, until he finally brushed his hand over her moistened lips.

"Oh, Jack," she gasped, louder than she would have wanted.

The pirate lifted his face from her breast. His mouth was at her ear, "yes, luv?" he whispered huskily.

Ana caught his hand with her own, turning it over, she forced him to touch her. She ground her body down onto his palm, begging him for more. He held her, rubbing his hand back and forth. She felt his fingers pushing against her, until one slipped inside of her folds. Burying her face in his chest, she screamed, the sound muffled by his skin. Jack's finger twisted inside of her, brushing against her clit. He took her ear lobe in his mouth, biting the tender flesh softly. A second finger slipped between the folds of skin at Ana's legs. He slid the digits back and forth, placing perfect pleasure on her clit. She shuddered, rendered completely helpless by his ministrations.

Removing his fingers, Jack repositioned himself over the lady. Lifting her hips, Ana pressed herself against the pirate. She could feel his manhood, hard and looking for entrance. Hands on his shoulders, Ana pulled Jack closer, crying out as he entered her. He trembled slightly and groaned in her ear. She wrapped her legs tightly around his body, holding him deep within her body.

"Please, Jack …"

Answering her plea, the pirate began to move his hips. Slowly his shaft slipped in and out of her, each time plunging deeper and farther. Once again, his hand found her breast. He fondled her in rhythm with each thrust.

"Faster," she moaned, holding his hand against her breast.

The pirate complied pounding in and out quicker and harder. Ana's hands grasped at the skin of his back, barely able to stand this delicious torture. Jack moaned again, each thrust becoming more erratic than the last. She bucked her hips against the pirate's groin. Each wave hitting Ana more intensely than the last. Finally, she could hold out no longer, she screamed the pirate's name and she could have sworn that the earth shook below her. She felt Jack's body tense and shudder violently, as he drove into her, emptying himself deep within her body. The heat from Jack poured out filling every inch of Ana, as he collapsed on top of her.

Several moments passed, the only sound being the heavy breathing of a pirate and his lady. Ana's hand moved to Jack's head, stroking his hair tenderly while she waited for her heart to return to it's normal pace.

"You're quite a marvel, Captain Sparrow," Ana mused, when she was finally able to speak.

Lifting himself from where he lay, Jack smiled, quirking an eyebrow.

Ana rolled her eyes. "I mean, last night you could hardly walk without aid."

"Last night, I didn't 'ave the proper motivation," Jack said, his voice scratchy with remembered passion. Wincing slightly, he rolled off of Ana and lay on his back next to her. She felt his hand take hers, their fingers intertwining.

Turning her head, Ana sought the pirate's face. His eyes were closed, a slight smile played about his lips. Not the self-satisfies smirk that she had seen earlier, but a true and genuine smile. Ana grinned widely, praying that Jack was as happy as she felt.

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"Such a beau'iful city, Kingston. Grown a bit, since me last visit." Boothe paced back and forth in his brig. Hardly any light reached this inner part of the ship. He could not actually see the port city from here, but he wanted to be sure that his guest knew they had arrived. "Let's see, last time I was 'ere, tha' pretty little sister of yers still lived wit' yer dad. Bet she's moved out since then, though, hasn't she? … Oh well, pretty girl like 'er won't be too 'ard t'find. I bet someone in town knows where I can find 'er." Boothe paused for a moment, leering down at the miserable excuse for a human being chained to the table.

"Capt'n," Gates started. "Wha' makes ye think 'e can even 'ear ye?" The pirate looked back and forth from his Captain to the man lying on the table. He had watched Boothe torture this man for the past few days. The man had endured the cat, knives and beatings, all the while maintaining that he full well planned to send Boothe back to the hell in which he had previously resided. Only when Boothe had heated up the tip of an iron spike and drove it through the miserable man's upper arm into the wood of the table, had he finally ceased his resistance. The man hadn't said a single word since.

Placing each hand on the blood soaked table, Charles Boothe regarded his prisoner carefully. The man's eyes were swollen shut, and the rest of his bruised face had gone slack hours ago. But, his chest still rose and fell, and his breath came in rasps at fairly even intervals. He was still alive … for now. "Oh, 'e can 'ear me, Gates," he sneered, taking hold of the iron spike and twisting it slightly. The prisoner's body tensed. He grunted and coughed, blood running out from the corner of his mouth. "Best part is, 'e can 'ear me, but 'e can't do anything to protect 'is baby sister."

Boothe laughed malignantly.

Gates shrugged.

"Jus' get the shore party ready," Boothe said, letting go of the spike. The man's body shuddered before relaxing, somewhat.

"Aye, Sir."

Boothe leaned down so that his face was level with his victim. "Ye were a fool t'think ye could keep me from 'er. I found ye, and I'll find 'er. Not a damn thing ye can do about it either, ol' chap."

The man on the table took a breath, before spitting his own blood in the evil pirate's face. "You're … a dead m-man," he rasped, his voice hardly a whisper.

Boothe stood up suddenly, hitting the bold prisoner across the face. "What do ye think ye can possibly do t'me from there?"

The man inexplicably started to laugh, his laughter making him cough more. When his coughing subsided, he opened the one eye that still functioned, glaring up at Black Charlie. "Not me … that you s-should worry about."

TBC

Well, thar she blows :-) And before I get any reviews about how quickly this relationshipprogressed, remember 1) the woman has been deprived for five long years and 2) he's Capt. Jack Sparrow ... savvy?

Last bit from me, Cal this chapter is for you, since you complained about my oneshots ending before the good stuff!

Please, review before moving on


	7. Determination

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own PotC.

A/N: I am so happy that you all enjoyed the next step in Jack and Ana's relationship.Hope you enjoy this chapter just as much ... but hopefully for different reasons.

Chapter Seven:"Determination"

Footsteps. Lots of footsteps above decks. What was going on? Where were they?

Kingston. They were in Kingston. That bastard had brought his shiphere to find … oh God, Annie. Black Charlie Boothe had come for Annie.

More footsteps. The door opened.

"Alrigh' you," a gravelly voice whispered. "Time to move."

Out of the corner of his good eye, Prescott saw one of the crewmen at his side. He felt rough hands on his wrist, struggling with the coils that bound him. The course rope rubbed against what was left of the skin on his forearms. Prescott groaned as partially healed wounds reopened, again.

"Shut it," the voice ordered, cutting the ropes away from the prisoner's arm and letting them fall to the floor.

Next, he went around to the other side of the table. From the sounds he heard, Prescott could tell that the pirate was slicing the bonds from his right arm as well, but he felt nothing. Swallowing, he sniffed the air, and his nose was instantly filled with the odor of infection and decaying flesh. Slowly, his head lolled to one side, and Prescott stared at his useless appendage, limp in the hands of his captor, and the iron spike protruding from his upper arm. He began to laugh sardonically, the resulting soundbeing more of a choking cough than a laugh. Prescott could not fathom the reason for his laughing, but for the fact that laughing was generally easier than weeping at the bleak future in store for the decorated officer turned scallywag. He had lived his whole life by the sword, and now he would not even be able to lift one.

The pirate stopped fiddling with his bindings and looked up. "What the 'ell is so funny?" he asked. The stench of his breath was nearly as horrific as the gangrene that had likely overtaken Prescott's arm. Instead of answering, the prisoner merely continued his quiet, scathing laughter. "Crazy bugger," the pirate concluded, placing both hands around the spike. He pulled on the iron protrusion, causing Prescott to hiss in pain, but the spike hardly moved at all. Taking a breath the pirate tried a different tactic, this time he attempted to unscrew the spike. This new assault caught Prescott completely by surprise and he cried out against the waves of pain that shot out from his shoulder and touched every part of his body. The pirate let go of the iron as though it were burning hot.

Mere seconds passed before the door to the room flew open, and Gates stormed in. His face was red with anger, and a vein on his bald head was pulsing rapidly. "What the hell are ye doin?" he demanded in a hushed voice.

"Told me t'move 'im," the other pirate stammered.

Exasperation took hold of Gates' face. Stepping forward he knocked on the other pirate's head with his fist. "Ello, Murray, anyone at 'ome in there?" Answered with a blank stare, Gates sighed. "I meant move the table. Pile boxes in front of him. Put a bloomin' blanket over top of 'im, something, anything, that doesn't involve 'im screamin' bloody murder and getting us all caught!"

Caught? Prescott's murky brain instantly snapped to attention. Taking a steadying breath, he forced away the agony he was feeling and refused to listen to the cries of pain from his limbs. He had to concentrate. If Gates was worried about being caught, then Boothe's crew must be in some sort of danger. Anything that worried Gates bode well for Prescott, for that meant that there was some chance, no matter how small, that he would be able to escape.

"Should jus' kill 'im. That would shut 'im up. Be doin' him a favor too," Gates murmured looking down at the blood coated spike sticking out from Prescott's shoulder.

"Capt'n wouldn't like that," the man named Murray observed.

Gates turned on his fellow crewman. "No probably not, but the Capt'n isn't 'ere now, is 'e?"

"No."

"No. Capt'n's gone ashore to find 'is little girlfriend leavin' us 'ere disguised as a merchant vessel wit no bloody cargo!" The pirate paused running his hand over his completely shaved head. Gates, probably Boothe's second in command, was tense. He was angry, and he didn't seem to agree with or understand his Captain's reasons for going to find Annie. Taking a mental note, Prescott wondered how he could use this information to his advantage. "Now, we've been boarded for inspection, and we've got nothin' to show 'em."

"Doesn't matter. Can't we jus' say we've already unloaded?" Murray asked, a simpleton's innocence in his voice.

"That's what we've said, but the damn officer says he wants t'take a look jus' the same." Gates sighed again. "I've 'eard of this chap," he started. "Some bugger name of Norrington. E's 'ung more pirates than all the rest of the Navy put together. 'E sees even the slightest thing out of place and …" Gates pantomimed of a noose stretching his own neck, rolling his eyes and sticking out his tongue.

James Norrington. Prescott did not have the foggiest idea what James was doing in Kingston, but no news could have made him happier. Ever since he'd entered the Navy, James had been a crusader against piracy in the West Indies, of course he would be suspicious of any unfamiliar ship in a British port. Prescott's mind went immediately to work trying to figure a way to make James smell the rats that truly inhabited Boothe's ship, preferably a way that did not get him killed in the process.

"What'll we do?" Murray asked.

Gates appeared to be wondering the same thing, himself. He walked to the other side of the room, apparently contemplating his options. Murray perched on the edge of the table on which Prescott lay. The movement jarred the table somewhat, drawing attention to the knife Murray had been using to cut the ropes from Prescott's wrists. A thin ray of light reflected off of the serrated blade. This had to be some sort of sign from God, or the devil, whoever watched over Prescott these days. Taking a decisive breath, Prescott extended his left arm over his chest, willing the appendage not to tremble. Wrapping his fingers around the bone handled knife, Prescott tucked the blade beneath the small of his back.

That very same moment, Gates turned back to Murray. "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "This Norrington bloke has a whole batch o' marines wit 'im so jus' stay 'ere and keep 'im quiet," Gates gestured to Prescott. "I'll try t'steer 'em away from the brig."

Murray stood up and faced Prescott as soon as Gates exited the room. "Ear that?" he whispered, leaning close so Prescott could catch every word. "Ye better keep quiet, or ye'll hang us all."

A thin smile spread across the former officer's bruised face. "Don't worry," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "You'll not see the n-noose." Prescott watched the confusion on Murray's visage, and he almost regretted what he was about to do. Almost. In one swift motion, with speed Prescott did not know he was capable of, he drew the knife and slashed at the exposed flesh of Murray's neck. The shocked pirate tried to stem the flow of blood, but the crimson liquid poured out from between his fingers as he fell, sputtering, to the deck.

Prescott momentarily let go of the knife.Despite the waves of dizziness that were crashing over him, he had no time to stop and catch his breath. If Norrington found nothing in his inspection and left the ship, so went Prescott's only hope for survival. He had killed a member of Boothe's crew. If the sadistic pirate returned and discovered this crime, he would surely kill Prescott, or worse. Knowing what he had to do, Prescott touched his limp right arm with his left hand. Despite finding exactly what he expected, Prescott still shuddered at the feel of his own cold flesh. Closing the one eye that still functioned, his hand once again found the knife handle. His bottom lip trembled as he pressed the serrated edge of the blade against his arm, just above the spot where the iron spike bound him to the table.

Drawing in a breath, he whispered into the darkness, "Courage, do not stumble though thy path be black as night. There is a star that guides thee. Let the road be dark and dreary and the end far out of sight. Face it bravely, strong or weary. Trust in God …" his ragged voice trailed off. Exhaling, he pushed the blade into his flesh. His eyes clamped shut, as the pain bombarded him. He felt his own blood flowing out over the hand holding the knife. Tears streamed out from both of his eyes, but somehow he continued sawing into the bone of his arm. The room spun. His hand shook, but still he did not stop. That monster was going after his sister, and he had to be stopped.

88888

Anamaria did not bother to hide, or look ashamed, when Sarah brought more hot water for Jack's bath. Her maid had assumed from the first that the lady and the pirate were having some steamy affair. Why bother to explain that the steamy parts had only started today? Sarah would not believe her anyway. Ana also did not leave when Jack got back in the bath. Feigning propriety at this point seemed so futile. She did put her dress back on, even that modesty seemed silly in the face of what had just transpired. The lady sat behind the pirate running the soapy cloth across his broad shoulders. She ran her fingers across his warm skin. Scars that had previously been so violently ugly were now mere lines criss-crossing his tanned back. If only the scars on one's mind could face a quickly. She traced one of the lines down to the middle of his lower back. There, she ran her finger around a small round tattoo of a skull, encircled by tribal looking markings.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Too many drinks in a tavern in Mexico," he answered, his voice tinged by memory.

"But what is it?" Ana pressed.

"Some Aztec god. Cortez took gold from the Aztecs, and I was going t' find it," Jack paused. "After spending a night in the pub listening t'stories about it, me an' me first mate went and got tattoos."

"You wanted the treasure of Cortez?" Ana said. "Did you ever find it?"

"No."

"Good thing," Ana went on, ignoring the bitterness of Jack's words. "Aren't ghosts supposed to live in that treasure, waiting to steal men's souls?"

Jack scoffed. "That's the rumor."

Deciding to let the subject drop, Ana twirled her fingers in Jack's long, bejeweled hair. "Is there a story for all of these, too?" she asked, holding a lock braided with beads.

"Sure."

"Ever take them out?"

He shook his head. "Why would I do that?"

Ana held the strand of hair in her hands, starting to undo the braid. "Well, if you're going to disguise yourself as some well-meaning, long lost cousin who is going to help me find my brother, you really shouldn't look like one of the most illustrious pirates in the West Indies," she explained matter of factly, as the beads slid out of Jack's hair and into her open hand.

The pirate turned to face Ana, regret in his eyes. "About what happened –"

Ana put a finger to Jack's lips. "Prescott can tell me when we find him." The pirate took a deep breath, and Ana's heart ached for the fear she could see deep within his dark eyes. Ana wondered if he was as afraid to lose Prescott as she was. "He won't be very happy you know, about you losing his ship," she said, hoping to lighten the mood.

Jack laughed quietly. "Sooner 'e realizes she's not 'is ship, the better."

"Don't hold your breath for that," Ana said. "My brother is not one to give up without a fight." Jack's eyes met hers, once again. He seemed to take some small comfort in her words, knowing she wasn't talking about the argument over who rightfully owned _Loyalty._ "Now, that's got to go," she said, pointing to the kohl that rimmed Jack's eyes. Smirking, she placed her hand on top of the pirate's head and dunked him beneath the water.

88888

Captain James Norrington had been ready to leave that morning, ready to sail back to Port Royal and go on with his life. He had delivered _Loyalty_ to Admiralty, given his report, and attended Fornin's Christmas gala. He had fulfilled his duties. He had even gone one step further and went to Annie to try to help her cope with her grief. She wasn't grieving, however. She was firmly in denial, insisting that Prescott could still be alive. He had gone to give her closure and maybe to find a little closure of his own. In spite of his intentions, he had left Annie's house feeling … hopeful. She believed so fervently that her brother was not gone. So, here James stayed. He made excuses to Admiral Delaney, telling him that Annie may need a friendly face to help her through this tragedy. James had volunteered to help with dock inspections, and other tasks, more to keep himself busy than to help Delaney. He had to admit, even if he did not really believe that Prescott was still alive, he did still round every turn half-expecting to see his friend standing there laughing about the whole misunderstanding.

James had been born in Kingston, and lived his whole life there, up until a few years ago. When he was a midshipman, Prescott Tarret's name had been in all of the papers for orchestrating an attack on three enemy ships at once. His battle plan had been a success and he'd been promoted to post captain when he was only twenty-five years old. About six months later, Prescott had been one of three captains to give Norrington his lieutenant's examination. Prescott had asked him how to tie a knot called the Crow's Bend. When Norrington conceded that he didn't know how, Prescott had laughed and said that there was no such knot. He told James that in the West Indies their enemies were pirates, and when dealing with pirates an officer had to be prepared for all kinds of deception. He went on to recommend James receive his commission.

James had been sorry when Prescott disappeared from Kingston to become a pirate. But, at least the pirate was still alive. With every hour that passed, the prospect of ever seeing Prescott Tarret again grew more and more unlikely. And with every merchant vessel that James boarded to inspect, he longed more and more to leave Kingston and all of its memories behind.

"Our Capt'n's gone ashore," a sailor with a completely shaved head was saying. "Standing orders not t'allow anyone aboard in 'is absence." The sailor leaned closer to Norrington conspiratorially. "An' I don't mind sayin' that our Capt'n isn't the kind of man who likes 'is orders disobeyed," he paused, sighing. "If I let you poke around, I may find meself lookin' fer a new job." He laughed nervously.

James pursed his lips. He really didn't like inspecting merchant ships. The duty was time consuming and, in all honesty, a dreadful bore. He had half a mind to just leave these poor sailors to their own business. However, something about this ship did not seem quite … right.

"Very well," Norrington said. "I don't mind leaving the marines here while I go ashore and inform your Captain that the Navy needs to inspect all merchant ships in the harbor."

The sailor's eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"If you wouldn't mind telling me his name …" James prodded.

A silence descended over the deck. Rolling his eyes, James was about to give up when a haggard voice spoke up from somewhere behind the assembled crew. "Boothe."

"What was that?" James demanded.

The crew parted down the center to reveal the man who had spoken. The detail of marines accompanying Norrington trained their weapons on the figure. The man was naked from the waist up, and he leaned against the mast as though he would fall without its support. His chest was covered with angry cuts and dark purple bruises. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his brown hair was matted to his head. His left hand was holding a rag, drenched in blood, to his shoulder where his right arm should have been.

"Their Captain is Black Charlie Boothe," the man said, hiswords loud and clear and fraught with pain. With those words went his last reserves of strength. The man fell to his knees, coughing up his own blood.

"My God," James exclaimed, finally recovering his own voice. "Prescott?"

The bald sailor's shocked gaze snapped to Norrington. He stood gaping, just as surprised by the recognition between the two men as Norrington himself.

"Lower your weapons," James ordered as he pushed the bald sailor out of his way and rushed to Prescott's side. Taking off his uniform jacket, he wrapped his arm around Prescott's shoulder and held the blue wool against his friend's wound. Prescott was shaking and his breath was coming in shallow gasps. "Charles Boothe did this to you?"

Prescott nodded weakly.

"Marines!" Norrington shouted. The marine detail immediately trained their weapons on the crew instead of Prescott.

"Ye know him?" the bald sailor asked, confusion etching deep lines in his face.

"I used to serve with Captain Tarret," James answered, angrily.

"Capt'n Tarret?" the sailor repeated. "E's in the Navy!?"

Prescott coughed, more blood dotting his lips. "Yes, he is," Norrington answered, not sparing a second thought for the lie he told.

"Boothe tol' us 'e was a pirate," another one of the crew spoke up.

"He isn't. You men have imprisoned and assaulted an officer in His Majesty's Navy," James paused glaring up at the guilty crew. "And I'll see your necks stretched for it." Prescott coughed again, his body going limp in James' arms. He could not stand to lose anymore blood. "Mr. Gillette," Norrington ordered. "See to it that these men are put in irons and taken to Fort Arthur."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"Mr. Billings, lend a hand here." The lieutenant helped James lift Prescott from the bloodied deck. "We have to get him to the infirmary and inform Admiralty about Boothe, organize a search." Billings obeyed the order, casting a glance at his superior officer that said he knew full well that Prescott was no longer in the Navy. Thankfully, he seemed content to keep quiet and follow orders.

"E went to find some girl," the bald sailor spoke up.

James stopped. "What girl?"

The sailor shrugged. "Think 'er name was Anne, somethin' like that."

"Anamaria?"

"Yeah, tha's it."

Norrington's blood turned to ice. Black Charlie Boothe was going after Annie! "Dear God," James said, before snapping back to attention. "Go! Now, Billings!"

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Ana knocked on the door to the guestroom. She had left so that Jack could get dressed in private, not because he would not want her to see him, but because she wanted to give him a moment to himself. Jack's clothes had been ruined, and the only man's clothes she had in her house, since she had told Sarah to destroy all of Chris' things, were Prescott's old uniforms. She was not sure how Jack would react to having to wear the clothes of a man who he may very well never see again. She also did not know how he would feel wearing a uniform that he wore in a life he would never have again. "Can I come in?" she said softly.

"Aye," came the answer.

Jack was standing in front of the mirror when Ana entered the room. He was tying the navy blue tie around his neck. Prescott's uniform jacket and sword still lay on the bed, but Jack was wearing the breeches, stockings, starched white shirt, and vest. His hair, free of beads, hung loose. His dark locks were almost dry, and Ana noticed for the first time that his hair was slightly curly. The kohl was gone from around his eyes, and he had shaved off his beard. He almost looked like a proper officer serving the Crown. He had once served the Crown, Ana reminded herself of the life her late husband had stolen from Jack.

Crossing the room, Ana picked up Prescott's jacket. She held it up for Jack and he slipped the garment on. His breath hitched, as the movement no doubt pulled at his wound. The pirate in disguise fingered the golden epaulettes on his shoulders. "Always used t'want set of these," he said ruefully. "When you're a Captain of a King's ship, no one can take her from ye." The sadness of past betrayals colored Jack's words.

Despite the pain in the pirate's statement, Ana's heart warmed. It was one of the most honest things he had ever said to her, unprovoked. She had not needed to push him to talk to her. He just opened up, of his own free will. Finding a black ribbon, Ana pulled Jack's long hair into a pigtail at the base of his neck. "Captain Sparrow, you are in command of a King's ship," she said, as she tied the ribbon. "A fact, I doubt my brother lets you forget."

Jack chuckled softly. "E certainly doesn't."

"Well," Ana started. "Are you ready to help me convince Admiralty to help us find Prescott?"

The pirate shrugged, buckling on Prescott's sword. "Ow exactly are ye planning on doing that?"

"It won't be hard. Sha – Admiral Delaney is a, a friend."

"A friend?"

Ana turned to eye the pirate. "Yes, a friend."

Jack did not look as though he believed Ana, but he let the subject drop just the same. Leading the way downstairs, a broad smile overtook Ana's face. Jack was jealous, and she was ecstatic that he would want to be the only man with whom she was friendly. As she reached the bottom step, the smile fled from Ana's visage. The warmth in her heart vanished, as she stared down into the wide, unseeing eyes of her maid.

Sarah lie dead on the parlor floor in a pool of her own blood.

TBC

One last a/n. I don't know if it's neccessary, but I wanted to justify Prescott's action. I saw a story on the news a while back about a hiker who somehow got himself trapped in the mountains. A rock fell on his arm and pinned him. He was alone and apparently no one would have known to come look for him. So, to escape he took out his pocket knife and sliced off his own arm. Gruesome, but desperate times can bring out a man's inner strength and determination. Like I said, I'm not sure this note was needed, but I didn't want anyone to think I was turning Pres into some kind of superhuman.

Oh, and Cal: Hotter that cayenne? You're insatiable :-)

Please, leave me a review before you go on!


	8. Puzzle Pieces

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from PotC. Still wish I did.

Chapter Eight: "Puzzle Pieces"

Black Charlie Boothe. A name that had gone down in infamy. From the day he was old enough to do so, Boothe had lurked in the seedy underbelly of Montego Bay, a thief, preying on rich man and poor man alike. After an incident in a tavern that left three men dead, one a member of the marine guard, Boothe had taken to the sea. In the years following, he came to embody the scum of which the King's Navy wished to rid the earth. From all appearances, Boothe wanted to follow in the footsteps of his mother's other son, dread pirate turned respectable citizen governor, Captain Henry Morgan, though Boothe had none of the charm or finesse of his elder sibling. It had long been suspected that Boothe had a hand in the death of his half-brother, but nothing conclusive had ever been found to indicate the truth of those suspicions.

Morgan had never married, and while his own sordid reputation suggested that he may have fathered heirs, none came forth at the time of his passing. Thus, all his worldly possessions were handed down to his only surviving relative, his mother's illegitimate son, Charles. With those possessions, Charles Boothe, now known as Black Charlie, somehow reasoned that he should also assume his late brother's title as governor of Montego Bay. Thankfully, the British government did not share this view. Still, Boothe made a meager attempt to fit into proper society in an effort to earn the respect of the powers that be. Purchasing a lavish estate, he took a wife and appeared to have laid down his sword.

James Norrington had learned very early on, however, that clothes, a proper wife, and a fancy home does not make a gentleman. Many Christmases ago, at Admiral Fornin's annual ball, James came face to face with Black Charlie and saw him clearly for the filth that he was. That fateful night also marked the first time that he made the acquaintance of Captain Prescott Tarret's younger sister, a woman of exotic beauty whose fire and spirit were destined to send Norrington's world spinning out of control more times than he could anticipate. He could remember, clear as day, coming upon Anamaria Tarret on the balcony, her wrist imprisoned by Boothe's foul hand, her dark eyes shooting fire at the vile creature. Despite having never seen her in person before that night, Norrington recognized her as Captain Tarret's sister immediately. Her dark skin and raven black hair had been the subject of much gossip in Kingston society. James intervened on the lady's behalf, and would have even if her last name were not Tarret. Still, James had to admit, at that early point in his career, he would have done anything to get in the good graces of a Captain as well respected as Prescott.

_The young dark hued lady turned her sparkling eyes to James. She seemed to expel a sigh of relief. "My thanks, Mr …"_

_"Norrington, James Norrington," he supplemented, bowing slightly and extending his hand to the woman. "And it was my pleasure."_

_She took his proffered arm, smiling disarmingly. "Do you always rush to the aid of ladies cornered by gutter rats?" she asked, as they walked back into the main ballroom._

_Her smile was too wide and her words too crude to be proper, but James could not help but laugh at the lady's jest. "Gutter rats, ghosts, dragons whatever you wish, though I must confess, I seem to have mislaid my white horse," he said, pretending to search the premises for his missing steed._

_The lady laughed, loud and full, throwing her head back, completely inappropriate. "I think Lieutenant the pleasure of our meeting is mine," she extended her hand. "Anamaria Tarret."_

_Placing a chaste kiss on the top of Anamaria's hand, James said, "Captain Tarret's sister." _

_The lady nodded. "Do you know my brother?"_

_She may not have realized, but Captain Tarret was somewhat of an honored guest at Fornin's parties. Prescott had, after all, pushed the Admiral out of the path of a bullet, only to be wounded himself. Fornin owed Prescott his life, and Britain owed Prescott a debt of gratitude for preserving one of her finest military strategists. "He was one of the Captain's who gave my examination," James explained, remembering the time he'd been lucky enough to meet the man personally._

_"Miracle that he passed. Didn't even know how to tie a Crow's Bend," Prescott's voice chided, as he strode off of the dance floor, leaving behind a very dejected looking blonde._

_Raising her eyebrow, Anamaria crossed her arms. "Do you?"_

_The Captain shrugged, tossing a wink to James. "No one does …I made it up." Prescott smiled wickedly, apparently very pleased with himself._

_Anamaria rolled her eyes. "And you wanted to serve with the likes of him?" she said, turning to Norrington._

_James laughed, but his answer was postponed by the arrival of Admiral Fornin. "Pardon my intrusion," the older officer said, bowing his head._

_"Not at all," Norrington said, his eyes wandering over Fornin's uniform, resplendent with gold epaulettes and brocade. A blue sash crossed his chest, and medals hung from his jacket reminding everyone of the man's long and illustrious career. Someday, James thought, smiling inwardly. Someday, that would be him._

_"Miss Tarret," the Admiral went on. "Might I impose upon you to share a waltz with an old man?"_

_Anamaria curtsied. "I'm sure to be the envy of every woman here," she said, grinning._

_"I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, Sir," Prescott said, as he stood beside James, watching the Admiral lead Anamaria to the floor. _

_James regarded the Captain. He was so unlike the Admiral. Prescott, too, wore a medal awarded to him for selfless valor in combat. The medal was one of England's highest honors, yet the Captain never called attention to it. He seemed a man who only wore the medal because it would be rude not to. "I am sorry, Sir, if my intentions seemed inappropriate," James said. "I assure you I was only offering your sister assistance-"_

_Prescott's blue eyes flashed. "Assistance," he interrupted, his eyebrows coming together. "What kind of assistance? What happened?"_

_Staring back at the suddenly imposing figure of Captain Tarret, James found himself stammering. "Nothing serious," he said, hoping to assure the older officer. "Boothe was talking to her, and she didn't seem to be enjoying the conversation. I merely provided her an excuse to leave."_

_"Boothe," Prescott practically spat the name. "That he had the audacity to show up here boggles my mind. Thinking that just because he was Morgan's brother – "_

_"Half brother," Norrington interjected, as his eyes fell on the man in question standing on the opposite edge of the dance floor._

_The Captain smiled. "Half brother," he corrected. "That he thinks he deserves to be governor …I wonder that his mind works at all."_

_"Not that Henry Morgan's legacy is one of virtue, anyway," James piped in, recalling the fabled pirate Captain Morgan. True, he had become a privateer and brought many buccaneers to justice, but it could also be said that he only took the commission to seek vengeance on old adversaries. "The man was little better than a common criminal, himself."_

_"Most politicians are little better than criminals," Prescott remarked sardonically._

_James nodded his agreement. "Yet, Boothe is an out and out criminal. He makes no pretense about that," Norrington almost shuddered at the memory of gruesome tales told about Black Charlie. Stories of bloodshed and violence beyond compare and here the man stood sipping champagne in Admiral Fornin's own house. "He should not be allowed to bother decent people. Something should be done."_

_Prescott crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. "Indeed."_

James sighed as he sat in the small rowboat, once again nearing the ship on which he had just discovered his friend, battered and abused almost beyond recognition. His shirt still bore the stains of Prescott's blood. Shaking his head, he wondered if the choices he had made on that night so many years ago had been different, would any of this have happened? Would his lieutenant have had to warn Admiral Delaney that Boothe was back in town and most likely headed to Annie's home? Would one of the finest men James ever knew be lying in the surgery right now fighting for his life?

Norrington had been reluctant to leave Prescott alone in the Naval hospital. He had wanted to stay by his friend's side, be there when he awoke. But, one of the lieutenants, a man named Gillette, had insisted that James return to Boothe's ship. The young man had been pale as a ghost, and Norrington could not forsake his duty, especially if he could find something to bring the dastardly pirate to justice.

"Down in the brig, Sir," Gillette said, by way of direction, as soon as James climbed over the side.

A guard had been posted at the door, a door that locked from the outside. Norrington clenched his jaw, Prescott had been held in that room. Boothe had tortured his friend in that room. Steeling himself, James nodded to the sentry to open the door. He stepped inside. The room stank of dried blood, rot and decay. Hardly any light seeped in from the outside world, but Norrington had no trouble picking out what had so disturbed the lieutenant. A table stood in the center of the dark room, and on it, fastened by a horrible iron spike, was Prescott Tarret's arm.

Letting his eyes fall closed, James drew a steadying breath.

Gillette came to stand next to Norrington. "Can one man truly be this cruel?" he said.

"What?"

"Boothe."

James opened his eyes. "Charles Boothe didn't do this," he said. "Prescott Tarret did it to himself. This was how he escaped."

The young lieutenant's eyes became as wide as saucers as he stared disbelievingly at Norrington.

"He did this to himself."

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Sarah lie dead on the parlor floor in a pool of her own blood. Anamaria bit off a scream at the ghastly sight. Swaying slightly on her feet, she reached out for the support of the stair railing. Without a second's hesitation, Jack drew Prescott's cutlass and moved to stand protectively in front of the lady. With the pirate's body blocking her view, Ana shook her head and was able to collect herself, somewhat.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "do you think whoever did this is still here?"

Jack was scanning the room, silently, listening for any sign of the intruder. He nodded.

"There's a pistol upstairs," Ana said, "in my room."

Slowly, the pirate turned to meet Ana's gaze. He nodded again, putting his index finger over his lips in an effort to tell Ana to keep quiet. Swallowing away her fear, the lady nodded her understanding. She would have asked Jack to come with her, or begged him to be careful and mind his injuries, but for a burning in his dark eyes that she had never seen before. The unexpected fire in those black orbs caught Ana completely off guard. She realized, as she ascended the stairs, that she had yet to see the pirate prepare for a battle. She had seen him react to a fight. She had seen him seek vengeance against a man who had tormented him, but she had never witnessed Jack ready himself for an impending confrontation. The look in his eyes brought the stark reality of Jack Sparrow back into Ana's mind. He was a pirate. A man who, through necessity, had lived by his sword. He was a man who went to bed next to danger every night of his life. He was perfectly comfortable with that bedfellow and completely confident in his own ability. As she retrieved the weapon from the nightstand by her bed, she selfishly reveled in the fact that a man of that caliber was now fighting for her.

Lifting the gun out of the drawer, Ana was suddenly jarred by the sounds of a struggle downstairs. Steel clashed against steel, as Ana rushed to the head of the stairs. Below, Jack was engaged in a fight with … Ana's blood instantly turned ice cold. Her breath caught within her chest and her mouth went dry as the desert. The pieces of this puzzle began to fall into place. The Heart of Captain Morgan. Her brother's disappearance and Jack's injuries. Black Charlie Boothe had returned, and, no doubt, he wanted his ruby back.

Ana chewed on her lip nervously, as the two men parried back and forth in the foyer below. She had seen Jack fight before. Once she had seen himtake onthree men at the same time and barely break a sweat. But, Jack had been injured, and the effects of that injury were beginning to make themselves known. Jack's movements were slower than Boothe's, his fighting, defensive. Ana saw him fall, almost before it happened, and she screamed his name without thinking. Jack hit the floor, Prescott's sword falling from his hand. At the sound of the lady's voice, Boothe's rancorous green eyes sought her at the top of the stairs.

"Jack," he repeated the name that worry had torn from Ana's lips. "Jack Sparrow?" he turned back to the fallen pirate Captain. "I hardly recognized ye," Boothe snarled, "But I assume ye remember me …" He laughed viciously as he kicked Jack in his wounded side. Jack cried out against the assault. Boothe only laughed harder. "Now, me dear Miss Tarret, what on earth would a man like Sparrow be doin' in yer house?" he asked, ascending the stairs.

Aiming the pistol right between Boothe's eyes, Ana smirkeddefiantly. "That's close enough," she said, her voice a harsh whisper.

"Ow am I t' tell ye what 'appened to yer brother if ye don't let me get a wee bit closer?"

Suddenly, Ana's knees became weak, and her heart hammered inside of her chest. "What have you done to him," she demanded, not lowering the gun.

Black Charlie shrugged, stepping nearer to the lady. "I jus' talked to 'im," he said, with mock innocence. "Nice bloke, 'e was kind enough t' tell me jus' where to find ye."

"You're a liar," Ana hissed. "Prescott would never do that."

The pirate's eyes narrowed. An loathsome grin materialized on his face. "After what I done to 'im. E would've brought me to yer door 'imself," Boothe paused. "If 'e were able, that is."

Tears began to blur Ana's vision at the though of her brother in that kind of pain, but she was still able to see the steel blade slice through Boothe's stomach. His eyes went wide, as he stared down to the sword tip protruding from his side. The blade disappeared again as Jack came around to face Black Charlie. "Hurts, doesn't it," he growled furiously.

All at once, the front door burst open. Admiral Shane Delaney burst into the house. "Anamaria!" he called.

The shout only broke Jack's concentration for a second, but Boothe was able to use it to his advantage. In an instant, he had brought the hilt of his sword down against Sparrow's wound. Jack doubled over in pain, and Boothe sent him tumbling down the stairs. "I'll be back fer ye," he said to Ana, before taking off down the steps.

Forgetting about the vile creature who was making a cowardly escape, Ana rushed to Jack, who was lying face down at the foot of the stairs. Ana rolled the pirate onto his back and cradled his head in her lap. His dark eyes parted, "m alright," he said. The lady brushed a stray strand of hair from his face to reveal a nasty cut on his forehead. His lip was split, and blood was beginning to seep through the white shirt and vest he wore.

The tears that had threatened to fall earlier were now given free reign to cascade down Ana's cheeks. "Did you hear?" she whispered. "What he said he did to Prescott."

"What happened?" Ana heard Delaney's voice, before Jack got the chance to answer.

"Boothe," she said. "He ran towards the garden," she pointed in the direction of the rear of her house. Delaney, and the marines he'd brought with him headed out after Black Charlie.

"Miss Tarret?" another voice beckoned.

"Now, what?" Ana sighed, just wanting to be left alone. Alone,with her grief.

"Captain Norrington sent me," the man said, immediately grabbing Ana's full attention. "He found your brother."

TBC

Please don't move on without leaving me a bit of feedback!


	9. While You Still Can

Disclaimer: Disney owns PotC, not I.

A/N: Thank you so very much to everyone who left feedback in that last chappy. I'm glad everyone seems to enjoy the flashbacks. They're my favorite way to fill in backstory, and I always hope that you all like reading them as much as I like writing them. Now, without further ado...

Chapter Nine: "While You Still Can"

_The little girl squirmed uncomfortably on the wooden bench. Her feet were too short to reach the floor, so she swung them nervously from side to side. Her father worked in this hospital, and she had been here dozens of times. But, today something was different. Her father had disappeared into the room across the hall nearly two hours ago. His face had been red, and puffy. Another doctor, who had been speaking in hushed tones and shaking his head, had accompanied him. Something was wrong._

_Her older brother, Findley, paced back and forth, up and down the stark white hallway. Her eyebrows came together as she watched him. Up and down. Back and forth. Over and over. Apart from the click of her brother's boots on the tiled floor, the building was so quiet. No one was talking or moving, except for Fin, who would not stop moving. He kept glancing down at the girl, smiling a quick smile, and then he'd start pacing again. The little girl sighed. Where was her mother? Why wasn't she here? She would tell the girl what was happening, and what to do._

_She shifted again in her seat. If only she could see through the door her father had vanished behind. Maybe it was something exciting, some big surprise. She sighed again. No, Findley would not be here during school hours for some surprise. Father would not have allowed that. Pursing her lips, the girl rested her chin in her hands. Something must be wrong._

_The silence was suddenly broken by a door opening somewhere down the long corridor. Looking up, the girl saw her eldest brother, Prescott approaching. He was wearing his uniform, which made him look older than his seventeen years. Fin, finally, ceased his incessant pacing. He took a few steps to meet Prescott. Young though she was, the girl was well versed in the art of eavesdropping, having a curious streak that often got her into trouble. Still, she could barely hear what her brothers were saying._

_"It's certain, then?" Prescott asked._

_Fin simply nodded._

_"Anyone told her?"_

_This time Findley shook his head, "Dad's been in there ever since he got 'ere." Pausing, he looked back to the girl. "I couldn't do it, Pres," he said, shrugging. "I had no idea what to say."_

_Prescott's eyes drifted from his brother's face to that of the young girl. He scowled. "Fine," he said shortly. Leaving Findley standing in the middle of the hall, Prescott headed towards the girl sitting on the bench. As he approached, the scowl left his face, replaced by a dazzling smile. "Pardon me, Miss?" he said, kneeling in front of her. "I'm looking for my little sister, Annie. Have you seen her?"_

_The girl giggled. "It's me, Pres," she said._

_Prescott's eyebrow rose, suspiciously. He leaned back, scrutinizing the girl as though he'd never seen her before. "Not possible," he said, crossing his arms. "My sister's just a little girl. You're entirely too grown up to be her."_

_Annie blushed. "Stop it, Pres," she said, biting her bottom lip._

_Winking, Prescott lifted her off of the bench and started walking down the hall. "How'd you like to go down to the beach?"_

_Smiling, Annie nodded emphatically. The beach was probably her favorite spot. She loved finding sea shells and watching the ships sail in and out of the busy harbor. She was not allowed to go to the beach alone, but Prescott would always take her. He'd tell her stories about all of the Navy vessels that passed by. Stories of officers, mermaids, and pirates. She could lay on the warm sand, soaking up the sun's rays, and listen to those stories for hours. Annie always looked forward to her days spent on the beach. But, as she had noticed earlier, something was out of place today. Prescott walked a little slower, almost as though he didn't want to get to the beach, like he would rather just keep walking._

_Not knowing what was different, but suspecting that Prescott was going to tell her, Annie merely stayed quiet as she walked along the edge of the water next to her big brother. He stopped to pick up a stone. Without saying a word, he threw it into the sea. The rock skipped twice before disappearing beneath the surface. Anniefound herselfwanting to know how Prescott made the stone skid across the water, but she thought better to wait for another day to ask him. Still saying nothing, Prescott continued walking ahead of his sister. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, in the manner that he'd been taught the first day he entered the King's Navy. To anyone watching the siblings, this would look like every other excursion they took to the beach. But the little girl behind the young lieutenant could see different. Prescott's fingers were repeatedly clenching and unclenching. He was nervous._

_Bowing her head, Annie kicked a clump of sand with the toe of her shoe. A tiny voice in the back of her head, told her what her brother was having such a hard time saying. That voice had been nagging at her for nearly an hour before Prescott even showed up at the hospital. "Prescott," she said, quietly. "Where's Mum?"_

_Her brother stopped. "Shrewd little thing, aren't you?" he murmured under his breath. Turning around, he sank down to the sand and motioned for her to come and stand next to him. "Do you remember last year when we had to get a new cook?"_

_Annie nodded. "Because Gretchen had gone to heaven to make God's breakfast." The new cook was nice enough, but she still wouldn't make French toast like Gretchen. The new cook said an English girl had no use for French toast._

_Prescott laughed quietly. "Yeah, that's right," he paused. "Well, now Gretchen's making breakfast for your Mum again."_

_"My Mum's in heaven? With God, and the angels, and Gretchen?"_

_"That's right."_

_"Your Mum's in heaven too, isn't she?"_

_Prescott nodded._

_"Do you think she'll have breakfast with my Mum?" Annie didn't really know much about Prescott's mother. Her Dad never talked about her, neither did Pres. Findley said that talking about her made them sad._

_Her brother smiled. "I don't see why not."_

_"Where is heaven, Pres?"_

_Prescott's eyes widened slightly. "Well," he hesitated, before pointing out towards the ocean. "See out there, where the sky touches the water?"_

_"Yes," Annie said, staring out to the horizon._

_"Heaven's just past that," he concluded._

_"Can you take a boat there?"_

_"I don't think so," Prescott answered, leaning back on his elbows. "You can't just sail out to heaven, anyway. You have to be invited to go out there."_

_Annie lay her head on her brother's chest, still gazing out to the sea. "It's awfully far away. What if I get lonely."_

_"You don't have to be lonely. I'll be here."_

88888

Anamaria stared down at her feet. She could see that her high-heeled shoes reached all the way to the floor, but she still felt precisely like that little girl who had unknowingly sat, swinging her legs,across the hall from her dying mother. Ana never got another chance to see her mother. When Prescott brought the little girl back from the beach, her mother was already gone. When she'd gotten a bit older, she had been angry with Prescott for robbing her of those last precious moments. Her other big brother, told her she was being foolish. Findley told Ana that her mother had been killed by a brute in town, and that Prescott had only been trying to preserve a little girl's fond memories of her mother. Ana neverhad to seeher Mum's bruised face and cut lip. Her final memory was a wide smile and a beautiful yellow dress leaving to go to the market.

Leaning her elbow on the arm of the bench, Ana rubbed her forehead. That girl had cried the day they gathered in the cemetery at put her mother's casket in the ground. She had been lonely without her mother to kiss her goodnight. But, just like he promised, Prescott had always been there when she needed him. When she'd yelled at him, out of anger, he would silently wear the storm. And, when she would sob her apology, he would be there to offer comfort. Her eldest brother had been the rock that she leaned on whenever life left her feeling weak and alone. He would walk by her side, unwavering, and he could say exactly the right words, the words that would make her calm down and see that her life hadn't ended.

Sitting on that bench, knowing that her brother was fighting for his life behind a closed door, Ana certainly felt that her life was ending.

Admiral Delaney sat next to her on the bench. He was rubbing her back, just like he had the night she'd learned that the _Loyalty_ had been found in Port Royal, empty. The gesture was just about as comfortless as it had been that night. She wished that it were Jack sitting next to her instead, but Shane had seen to it that Jack was admitted, so a doctor could tend to his injuries. Ana was glad for that, Jack had been hurt before his fight with Boothe to say nothing of after the confrontation. He needed rest and proper medical attention. Still, Ana selfishly wanted him by her side.

Ana started, as the doors down the hall banged open. Foolishly, she looked up hoping to see Prescott hurrying to her side, ready to make this all go away. Instead, she saw a very pale James Norrington. Practically leaping from her seat, Ana rushed towards her friend.

"My God, Annie," he said. "Are you alright."

Taking comfort in James' concerned embrace, Ana nodded. His hands were cold. "What happened James?" she asked. "The doctor's still in with Prescott, and they won't let me see him. And no one in this infernal building will tell me anything," she said, shooting a glare over her shoulder at Shane. The Admiral lowered his head, properly rebuked.

Norrington's eyes widened, as they always did when Ana spoke in a manner unbecoming a lady, almost as though her behavior still surprised him after all these years. "Annie – "

"Who did this to him, James," Ana whispered. "Was it Boothe?"

The Captain nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I don't understand. Why would Boothe come back after all this time. I thought he was in prison."

"He was," Norrington said, simply.

Ana pursed her lips. James was trying to placate her. If he thought that this was Anamaria being hysterical, he had no idea what he could be in for.

"Annie, Mr. Billings said there was a man in your house when he came to find you – "

"You mean a man other than Black Charlie Boothe!" Ana hissed furiously.

James placed a hand on the lady's shoulder. "Keep your voice down."

Crossing her arms, Ana said, "Yes, there was a man in my house, and be glad of it, James Norrington. He saved my life." Ana was stalling. James was going to ask who this man was. Obviously, she could not reveal that Jack Sparrow had come to her house, again. Despite their long standing friendship, Norrington was a man who hunted pirates for a living. He would bring the entire fort to Jack's hospital room and have him hauled off to jail. She had to think quickly. She had made Jack wear Prescott's old uniform when she was under the impression that the two of them would have to convince Delaney to let them go looking for Prescott. The disguise worked because, to her knowledge, Shane had never met Jack Sparrow. Norrington had. Gone were the beads from his hair, the beard from his chin, and the kohl from his eyes.Jack really didn't look so much the notorious pirate Captain that he truly was, but was it enough to fool James? It had to be.She would just have to make something up and pray that James would be too preoccupied to recognize Jack.

"Well, who is he?"

"He's a cousin of Prescott's, son of my father's brother," Ana blurted out. "Apparently, news of my brother's refusing the Admiral's position has made it's way across the ocean. He came to see that I was properly looked after." There it was. The lie Ana was going to have to stick with for the duration. She hoped that bringing up the incident where Prescott traded his title as Admiral to save a pirate would make James uncomfortable, as it usually did.

"The story's reached England, eh?"

Ana paused. Jack's deeply tanned skin did not remind her of anyone she'd ever seen come off the ship from England. Those people tended to be white as the grave. "Gibraltar, actually," she amended. "My father's brother married a Spaniard. It seems improper unions run in the family." There, crisis averted.

The officer blanched. "I didn't mean … um … quite right. Good that he was there to protect you." James cleared his throat, effectively closing the subject.

Just as Ana suspected, the upstanding gentlemen was much too scandalized by her blunt speech to continue his line of questioning. She knew she shouldn't feel so proud of her sham, but she could hardly help herself. Jack, too, would probably be impressed. "Now, if you are satisfied that I wasn't carrying on inappropriate relations in my home, would you kindly tell me what in God's name happened to my brother?" Oh, if James ever knew the truth about what sort of relations she carried on in her home...

Norrington stared evenly into Ana'sface for a long moment. In his eyes, a battle waged. He knew something, but he was hesitant to share his knowledge with the lady standing before him. James exhaled. His eyes were suddenly resolute. He glanced meaningfully over Ana's shoulder at the Admiral seated on the bench. "I will tell you what I know," he said, his voice so low that Ana could just hear him. "In private." Then, out loud. "You should get some fresh air, Annie. Please, take a walk with me."

"Of course," Ana answered, again loud enough for Delaney to hear. Taking his arm, Ana went with James through the doors he had just entered. "What's going on James?" she said, once they were out from under the Admiral's watchful gaze.

"Do you remember that night we met at Fornin's Christmas ball," James started. "The one that Boothe showed up for?"

"Of course," Ana said. She had been thinking on that same eventonly last night.

"Boothe was taken into custody that very night."

"I know."

"But you don't know why."

88888

_The party was finally drawing to a close. James normally would never have endured the event for so long, except that good fortune kept him in the company of Captain Tarret most of the evening. The older officer was not exactly the man that James had expected him to be, but still, much could be learned from someone who had risen so smartly through the ranks. Round every corner, someone was waiting to raise a toast to Captain Tarret's bravery or to ask the details of one of the fantastic tales they'd read about in the Naval Gazette. A man like Prescott could have easily reveled in the attention. However, in place of vanity, Norrington observed a man who told the stories as a father would tell a bedtime tale, hoping that this would be the one that made the children drift off to sleep so that he could escape. Prescott accepted the praise from the townsfolk, but he never boasted, continually saying that he was only doing his duty. Perhaps, the celebrated Captain was a bit unconventional. His views were not those that James had been prepared to hear, but Prescott Tarret was definitely a man of honor and ability that any officer in the Royal Navy should endeavor to emulate._

_"Quite popular tonight, eh?" James said, once the latest couple of admirers had left. Usually, Norrington would never presume to speak so plainly with a superior officer, but, as he noted before, Prescott was different._

_The Captain rolled his eyes. "I'm an oddity on display, Mr. Norrington, nothing more. Soon the novelty will wear off, and I can go back to avoiding these little soirees like the plague." Prescott snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter as he headed towards the now empty veranda. "So, what about you, Lieutenant? What brings you to the grandest gala in the Caribbean?" the Captain asked flippantly._

_"The Admiral was a friend of my father's."_

_"Ah," Prescott downed the champagne in one gulp. "Good to have low friends in high places, isn't it?"_

_James was somewhat taken aback by hearing the Captain insult the Admiral. Technically such words could constitute mutiny. "I'm surprised," Norrington admitted. "I would have thought you'd speak better of a man you nearly died to save."_

_"Oh, you read that too, eh?" Prescott shrugged._

_"Don't belittle your actions, Sir. You risked your life for the good of England – "_

_"Maybe," Captain Tarret interrupted. "But that is my job."_

_"Not everyone would have done what you did."_

_"What I did, Mr. Norrington, and what the Gazette says I did, are not one in the same." Memory flashed in the older officer's eyes. "Fornin sailed us into a nest of buccaneers. Sure, I saved the man's life. Figured, better he survive to face the court martial, than I."_

_"If it was so hopeless, then how did you get home alive?"_

_"Lucky shot found it's way to one of the pirate's powder magazines. The explosion damaged one of the other ships as well. Guess the rest thought the fight suddenly wasn't so worthwhile."_

_Norrington nodded. Only later did he find out that Prescott himself had been the one aiming the "lucky" shot, even after he had been wounded. Though,James hadalready suspected that there was more to the tale than the modest Captain led him to believe._

_"Capt'n Tarret?" a voice called from behind._

_"Not another one," Prescott murmured, low enough so only James heard._

_Turning to meet the latest adoring fan, the Captain was visibly shocked to find himself facing Black Charlie Boothe. Norrington could not believe the audacity of that criminal. As if it wasn't enough that he went around bothering women._

_"What do you want?" Prescott asked, his voice was without any hint of congeniality. James stood behind the Captain, his arms crossed._

_Boothe ignored the obvious disdain of the officers. "I had occasion t' meet your lov'ly sister earlier t'night," he said, his lips curling into a predatory smile. "Quite a woman, isn't she?" he baited._

_"It doesn't surprise me that Annie spoke with you," Prescott started, his voice no longer light with drink. Instead,the words dripped with his aristocratic accent, and menacing authority. James was dually impressed. "My sister has always been charitable towards stray animals."_

_Norrington bit his lip against the laugh that burst up to his throat. Boothe's face flushed._

_"It was also my understanding," Prescott went on. "That she took the first opportunity to escape your company."_

_The pirate's eyes narrowed. "True, she didn't quite see things my way, but maybe she'll listen better whenI 'ave 'eron 'er back."_

_Boothe barely had time to finish his vile sentence before Captain Tarret dropped him to the floor with one well placed blow.Blood trickled out from the corner of the pirate's mouth. Leaning down the officer pulled Black Charlie up by his collar. "Insult my sister again, and I'll send you to the devil," Prescott growled. By the tone in the man's voice, James had no doubt, Prescott would make good on his promise._

_"Are you threatening me?"_

_"Yes." Prescott let go of the man's collar, shoving him backward._

_Boothe smiled a cruel smile. "I'll mind me manners then," he snickered. "Didn't know it were so easy to insult the honor of a trollop that struts around like yer sister."_

_In an instant, Prescott had reaffirmed his hold on Boothe's jacket. Spinning around, he sent the brigand hurtling towards James, who, having no time to react, went to the floor with Black Charlie on top of him. His head connected with the cold stone floor of the terrace. He felt the warmth of his own blood on his face._

_"Marine!" Captain Tarret shouted. The sounds of booted soldiers filled James' ears, as Prescott leaned down to help the stunned lieutenant to his feet. The world spun for a moment, as the young officer stood gaping at Prescott. "Marines," the Captain started, gesturing down to Boothe. "This man has just assaulted a officer in the King's Navy."_

_The soldiers had Black Charlie Boothe clapped in irons before he knew what hit him. The pirate's eyes threw daggers at Captain Tarret, but he said nothing in his own defense. No one would believe him, not against the word of a respected Captain in the Royal Navy. Boothe knew it, and from the sly grin on Prescott's face, the officer knew it too._

_"Are you quite alright, Lieutenant Norrington?" Fornin, himself, had just arrived on the scene. James nodded, ignoring the way the world swam as a result of that action. "Boothe attacked you, eh?"_

_James glanced at Prescott, who stared evenly back at the younger officer. "He did," Norrington said. _

_If someone would have asked James, he doubted that he could have come up with a reason for lying to Admiral Fornin. Prescott was no great friend of his to whom he owed his loyalty. True, the Captain held a higher rank, but Prescott was not yet influential enough to ruin James' career, should he disagree with his accusations. Norrington had simply been so appalled by Boothe's actions, and manner of speaking, that he saw Prescott's actions as completely justifiable. After all, most people thought the man had a hand in killing his own brother. Such a man should not be allowed to intermingle with decent people._

_The Admiral shook his head. "I suppose I should have seen this coming," he admitted. "Take care of this, will you, Captain Tarret."_

_"Of course, Sir."_

_Fornin reentered his home, no doubt to explain the incident away in a barrage of long politically minded words. Words that would, no doubt, take all blame for Boothe's having been at this party, decidedly off of the Admiral's shoulders._

_As Fornin left, Prescott stepped closer to Boothe. "I hope you enjoyed harassing my sister," he said, still smiling. "Because that is the last contact you'll be having with a woman for a very long time."_

_"Doesn't matter," Boothe shrugged. "I'll hang come t'morrow, then I'll have me way in hell."_

_Prescott's eyebrow rose. "Now, Mr. Boothe, I'm sure we can make some sort of arrangement for someone who comes from such a distinguished family as yours." The Captain laughed scathingly. "After all, there's always room for one more out on the _Vanth_."_

_Norrington's eyes widened slightly._ HMS Vanth_ was a decommissioned sloop anchored just off of Jamaica's western shores. It was reputed to be one of the vilest prison's in the British Empire._

_"You send me there, an' I'll get out. I'll come find that lass an – "_

_"If you escape," Prescott snarled. "I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth."_

_88888_

Anamaria's lips parted. She had scarcely breathed during James' retelling of a night that she thought she remembered. She vaguely recalled Prescott disappearing for a while that evening, but when he did return, nothing had seemed to be amiss. He certainly hadn't looked like a man who just used his position to send someone off to rot in prison. "He never told me," she said, at a loss for anything else to say.

"Annie," James started, placing his hand on her shoulder. "I didn't mean to upset you. Neither of us has spoken of that night since it happened. I just … thought you should know."

Ana blinked, uncomprehending, at James. She had been worried about Prescott before, but now … Boothe had not happened on her brother by some accident. He had been searching for Prescott, and her, for God knows how long. He was seeking revenge. "Did they soldiers find Boothe?"

Norrington shook his head. "I happened upon his ship out in the harbor. Something didn't seem right, so I demanded that they allow myself and the marines to search the vessel. That's when I found Prescott."

"So, his crew, his ship and his … prisoner," Ana stumbled over the last word, "have all been taken from him?"

James nodded. "He shouldn't be able to get far. He certainly doesn't have a friend left in Jamaica."

Remaining silent, Ana was not so sure. A man like Boothe would have made all sort of friends during his sordid career. Some would have left, but some would still be lurking in the shadows, ready to join up again, should he resurface. A fact that didn't bode well for Prescott, or her, for that matter. She had the sickening feeling that they had not seen the last of Black Charlie Boothe. "Thank you for telling me, James," she said at last, not quite ready to voice her suspicions.

Norrington smiled sadly. "I only wish I could have done more."

"Anamaria." Shane stood in the doorway behind them, his face grim. "The doctor says that you should see your brother now while you – "

A sharp glare from Norrington stopped the words on the Admiral's lips, but Ana knew well enough what Delaney was going to say. While you still can.

TBC

Ooh, cruel cliffy, I know. I'll try to write faster so you aren't hanging here too long. Please, don't leave without dropping mea review!


	10. Pain

Disclaimer: Just playing around with PotC. Don't own any of it.

A/N: Well, don't let the quick update give you the idea that threatening reviews will work in the future -) I couldn't believe the outcry against me just leaving you hanging there, not knowing what would happen to Prescott. I have to say that even though many of you called me evil, your reviews warmed my heart as well. I am so happy that you all like my OC so much. Makes an author proud! Anyway, I was worried what would happen if I left you with that cliffy for too long, so I went right to work writing this chappy.

**Chapter Ten: "Pain"**

It should hurt. For five days straight, or maybe six, he had been beaten almost to the point of death in the dank, stinking hold of Boothe's ship. He had felt each cut, each blow, each time a partially healed wound reopened. Every inch of his body had cried out in anguish at even the slightest motion. After Boothe had driven the heated spike through his shoulder, the pain had been constant. He hadn't been able to think about anything else. Towards the end, he even ceased to feel respite when Boothe left him alone, for the memory of the beatings would be just as excruciating. Then, he had to slice off his own arm to escape. The pain had been so overwhelming that he had almost blacked out. How he had made it up to the deck, to Norrington, he would never know. Pain like that does not just go away. Shouldn't it hurt? Shouldn't he feel … something?

"If you're looking for this to make sense, you're going to be sorely disappointed."

Prescott's eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright in the bed. He had been to the Naval Hospital dozens of times, as a patient or visiting fallen comrades. Everything about the room he was in seemed in order, except for the fact that the man seated on the edge of his bed had been dead for over ten years. Blinking several times, he tried to make the apparition disappear, but when he opened his eyes again, there sat his little brother, Findley. Every detail was exactly as he remembered. Fin's light blue eyes and curly blonde hair were the same as the last day he saw his brother alive. Prescott pursed his lips, blinking again. This was not possible. Was it? He did just cut off his own appendage. A man who would do something like that may not be quite right in the head. Maybe Jack had rubbed off on him, and he'd gone crazy.

"Please, Pres," the ghost said. "You're logical to a fault, not crazy. And, I'm not a ghost."

Prescott quirked an eyebrow. Logical men do not see, and hear their dead siblings, he thought to himself. "Am I dead?" he said aloud, noting that the act of speaking wasn't quite as awful as it had been on the deck of Boothe's ship.

Findley shrugged. "That's up to you."

"Don't be cryptic. It doesn't suit you," Prescott retorted, automatically using the tone he'd used countless times with his younger brother.

The ghost smiled, sliding off the edge of the bed and walking across the room to stare out the window. "I was wondering how long it would take you to start yelling at me," he said, turning around to shoot a glare over his shoulder, "and, I already told you, I'm not a ghost."

Pressing his lips together, the injured officer wished he could get out of bed and deck his little brother.

"Go ahead," Findley said. "Nothing's stopping you."

Much to Prescott's surprise, Fin was right. He swung his legs out of bed and stalked towards the window. Noticing belatedly that both arms swung at his sides. "What the – "

"Yeah, you get those back when it's all said and done," the younger Tarret said, gesturing to Prescott's right arm. "In the event that you decide to lop one off during your days among the living."

Prescott scowled. "Is it all said and done?"

"Once again, dear brother, that is up to you," Findley said. "He had an older brother once," he went on, gesturing with his head to someone behind Prescott.

The older officer turned abruptly, and saw Jack Sparrow standing just inside of the door to his room. His hand still held the doorknob, knuckles white. He was wearing the pristine breaches and vest of a naval uniform, though the vest was stained with blood. His eyes were no longer rimmed with thick black kohl and his hair was tied neatly behind his neck. He looked just like any other gentleman in the English Navy. Prescott could see stitches running along his forehead just below his hair line. He wasn't anybody in the British Navy. He was the pirate Captain that Prescott had thrown off a cliff in a last ditch effort to save Annie's life. Apparently, Sparrow had survived. The pirate was staring down at the bed Prescott had just vacated, his lips were parted slightly. He seemed as though he were frozen to that spot, completely unable to take a step further. "Jack?" Prescott breathed.

"He can't see you," Findley supplemented. "Well, not this you. He's looking at _that_ you," the younger man pointed back to the bed.

Prescott shuddered upon seeing the man lying on the bed. A myriad of bandages swathed his right shoulder, where his arm should have been. Dark purple bruises covered what could be seen of his torso and left arm. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and a bandage covered the ugly cut that Prescott knew to be on the left side of his jaw.

Prescott said quietly, shutting his eyes against the memories of the torture that had caused those wounds. "My God," he said under his breath.

"Fraid you don't get to meet Him until your through," Findley piped in.

"Through with what?" Prescott asked, still staring down at his battered body.

"Life," Findley said, coming to stand beside his older brother. He crossed his arms and regarded the pirate, who had not moved since entering the room. "His brother wasn't like you," he said softly.

"How do you know that?" Prescott asked sharply.

"I've met him. He's dead too."

"The two of you sit up in heaven swapping stories, then?"

Findley's face darkened. "I said his brother was dead. I didn't say that I met him in heaven. Jack wasn't as lucky as I was." Blinking, he suddenly turned his gaze to Prescott. "Now, time you're getting back, so you stop scaring our sister and that pirate."

"What?"

"Sorry, if this wasn't what you were expecting, but the Almighty gets tired of sitting at the end of a long dark tunnel with a light and saying _'Go back it's not your time.'_ So, sometimes He does it a bit differently."

Prescott looked his little brother up and down. "You're my tunnel?"

Findley smiled, his endearing lopsided smile. "So, to speak," he laughed.

"And, it isn't my time?"

"No."

88888

Now, it hurt. Everything hurt. His right shoulder burned, with a white hot pain like nothing he'd ever felt before. His head throbbed, a steady and constant rhythm that set a backdrop for the frequent and irregular stabs of pain that would shoot through various other parts of his body. Even his right arm hurt, despite the fact that he'd left it on Boothe's ship. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. It hurt not to. No wonder his soul had tried to leave this agonizing shell behind. If that was indeed what had happened. It was still possible that he had dreamed up his brother's image.

He could open his eyes. One of them. He thought he could, at least. But, the prospect of doing anything besides lying here, completely motionless, horrified him. He remembered the way the light had been streaming in through the window and could only imagine what that would do to the pounding in his head. Not to mention, if he woke up, he would be expected to speak to someone. He'd struggled so to say Boothe's name, one single, solitary syllable, when he was trying to alert Norrington. If he had not been able to lean his torn body against the mainmast, he would have collapsed long before he summoned the strength to say that one word. How much worse would whole sentences feel.

Footsteps resonated from somewhere in the room, and Prescott recalled seeing Jack standing by the door. That much, apparently, had not been a dream. He heard a chair scraping across the floor and stopping somewhere to his left. Then, he felt a calloused hand come to rest on his arm, the arm he still attached to his body. Two fingers slid around, coming to rest on the underside of his wrist. The pirate was checking for a pulse. Remembering how awful he had looked, Prescott did not blame Jack.

"Courage, Captain," the pirate said hesitantly, squeezing his shipmate's wrist.

He did not finish the prayer, but the rest of the words ran through Prescott's mind, anyway. That was the same prayer he'd said before every action while he was still Captain of the _Loyalty_. He'd said that prayer over Findley as he lie dying on the deck of the Admrial's flagship. Strange, that only a few years ago, Prescott would have scoffed at the notion of a pirate giving a damn about anyone but himself. He would have flat out refused to believe that a pirate would ever pray, much less pray for someone else. Not anymore. In the past two years, Prescott had come to think of a pirate as a brother. Amazing, how time and experience could change a man's perspective.

The side of the mattress drooped a bit. Jack must be leaning on the bed. "I don't suppose ye can 'ear me," he started, quietly. Prescott felt dishonest, hiding the fact that he could indeed hear the pirate Captain, but still his eyes remained closed. He was just so tired. "But, if ye can, I thought ye should know that I'm sorry."

Sorry. Prescott struggled to stay conscious and hear what the pirate was saying. What in the world was he sorry for?

Almost as if he had heard Prescott's question, Jack answered. "Ye tol' me it was daft t' go after Morgan's ruby, but …" he left the rest of the sentence unfinished. His words were quiet, tinged with regret, wholly unlike the drunken bravado that usually accented the pirate's speech. "Still 'ave the ruby, but it doesn't quite seem worth it, now" The pirate sighed, slowly leaning down and letting his head rest on Prescott's forearm.

The silence following Jack's admission hung heavy in the air. Prescott felt a stab of pain in his chest that had nothing to do with his various injuries. None of this was Jack's fault, and it was cruel of him to let the pirate bear a burden that he didn't deserve. Tentatively, the injured officer cracked his one good eye open. Just as he'd anticipated, the sun coming in through the window pierced his eye causing a new hurt to mingle with all of the others. He licked his lips, praying that his voice wouldn't fail . "M-Maybe in the future," God, it hurt to talk, "you should let me decide w-where we sail my ship."

Jack's head shot up, and he stared wide eyed at the officer. "Scotty?" he said, for once not bothering to argue over ownership of the _Loyalty._

Prescott moved his lips into what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile, anything was preferable to speaking again.

He felt the pirate's hand tighten around his arm. Jack let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding for a long time. "I overheard the doctor sayin' ye were gone," he whispered, almost as though saying the words out loud might make them true.

The officer furrowed his brow. "I think I was," he said, whispering out of necessity.

Jack's black eyes narrowed. "You're going t'have t'explain that one," he said, the first hint of a smile coloring his face.

Prescott swallowed, trying to ignore the rawness in his throat. "I talked with my dead brother, and saw myself lying in bed," he rasped, leaving out the part about seeing Jack by the door.

"Long dark tunnel, bright white light and all, mate?" Jack teased, producing his all too familiar, much missed, Cheshire cat grin.

The older Captain smiled, remembering what Findley had said about the light at the end of the tunnel. "Maybe it was just a dream," he said. Then, suddenly, an idea came to him through his pain muddled thoughts. A way to find out if he'd really seen his little brother. "Can I ask you something?"

Jack nodded, shrugging.

"Did you have a brother?" Prescott asked haltingly, his voice starting to fail him.

A shadow descended over Jack's already dark eyes. The muscles in his jaw twitched. "Why?"

Prescott made a face that he hoped said "Please, just answer the question."

The pirate's gaze drifted towards the window. "I had a half-brother," he said, no emotion in his voice. "Why? Did ye see 'im in the tunnel too?"

The older officer shook his head, immediately regretting the action. His vision blurred. Patchy dark spots floated in front of his eyes. His head throbbed with renewed vitality leaving him feeling as though his skull was going to implode.

"No," the pirate went on, still staring out the window. "Ye wouldn't see me brother. If e's dead. He's in hell."

Even through his distorted vision, Prescott could see, from the expression on Jack's face, that he was reliving something from his past. Something that clearly still haunted the pirate. "I'm sorry," Prescott choked, the short sentence finally sapping all of his strength. His words degenerated into a coughing spasm.

The shadow disappeared from Jack's eyes. The black orbs were instantly wide, and full of concern, as Jack rose from his seat. "What's wrong?" he said.

Still coughing, Prescott could hardly answer the worried pirate. "Nothing … fine," he managed in between gasps. The pirate gently lifted his shipmate into a sitting position, in an effort to help him breathe easier. A gesture that would have helped a lot more, if Prescott's back hadn't been covered with barely healed cuts from Boothe's cat o' nine tails. Every place Jack's arm touched the bandages on his back seemed to explode, sending waves of pain coursing down his spine and out through his arm and legs. His vision darkened, and, though he fought fiercely to retain consciousness, he finally succumbed to the darkness.

88888

"Do you want me to come with you?" James asked, eyeing Anamaria with concern as she stood in front of Prescott's room, bracing herself.

Ana shook her head. "No," she said, smiling slightly. "I want to be alone with him, if it really is the last time …"

Norrington placed his hands on each of Ana's arms and stared intently into her amber eyes. "Don't say that," he said. "Don't even think like that."

Taking a deep breath, Ana slipped out of James' reach. Another breath, and she pushed open the door to Prescott's room, leaving Norrington standing outside. She knew he was worried about Prescott, and her, but she did need to see her brother alone. When she stepped inside of the room, a doctor was standing next to Prescott's bed. Stethoscope in his ears, he was gently setting the other end of the instrument on her brother's chest.

James had told her about finding Prescott on Boothe's ship. He said that Prescott's many injuries had seemed very serious. He also told her that her brother only escaped from Boothe by sawing off his own arm. No doubt, Norrington had been trying to prepare her for what she would see. Despite the Navy Captain's best efforts, nothing could have prepared Ana for seeing her brother lying in that bed. Prescott's face was hardly recognizable with one eye swollen shut and a bandage running up his jaw line. He did not look like the strong, dashing Captain. He looked, almost, helpless.

The doctor stood up, removed the stethoscope from his ears, and turned to Ana for the first time. She made no attempt to wipe away the tears that had begun to stream down her cheeks. "How is he, doctor?" she asked, her voice wavering.

The physician was an elderly man, who looked vaguely familiar. He had short white hair and sympathetic brown eyes. He licked his lips before replying. "Your brother has been hurt very badly," he started. "Judging by his injuries, I wouldn't expect him to survive." Ana gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. She squeezed her eyes closed, forcing more tears to cascade down the sides of her face. "But …" the doctor smiled congenially. "That prognosis doesn't take into account the fact that your brother has a will to survive unlike any I've ever seen."

Ana's eyes popped open.

The doctor shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked back towards Prescott. "In my younger days, I was surgeon aboard the _Dauntless_. I remember a young lieutenant that also served on that ship. In the midst of a hopeless battle, this lieutenant took a bullet that had been aimed at Admiral Fornin's heart. He refused to let me treat his wound until the battle had ended." The man shook his head, smiling at Ana. "The battle raged for hours after he'd sustained that injury. He collapsed, dead on his feet, when the victory cheers finally sounded on deck. The Captain, himself, carried that young lieutenant down to the surgery. We'd given him up for dead. But, two weeks later he stood up on the quarterdeck and guided _Dauntless_ into port."

Ana could picture Prescott, hands behind his back, shouting orders as the ship sailed into Kingston harbor. Her heart warmed, and she felt hopeful for the first time since she learned that _Loyalty_ had turned up empty. But, she still couldn't stop crying.

Moving towards the door, the doctor paused laying a hand on Ana's shoulder. "My professional opinion isn't optimistic," he said. "But, if you wereask me for a personal opinion, I think he just may surprise us again."

"Thank you, Doctor." The old man waved away her thanks. "Is it okay if I sit with him for a while?"

The doctor nodded. "Just let him sleep for a while before you wake him."

Taking up a seat next to Prescott on the bed,Ana took his hand in her own, and began softly rubbing the back of his palm. The skin around his wrist was pink and raw. His knuckles were cut and scraped. His chest was covered with bruises so dark, than Ana almost didn't notice a tattoo. The letter "S" intertwined with a rose. Reaching out, Ana lightly traced the pattern. Her brother's breath suddenly hitched, and she hastiliy removed her hand. Staring intently at his face, Ana's eyes narrowed. "Prescott Tarret," she whispered. "Are you faking?"

A grin slowly spread across her brother's face. Mischief glimmered in his good eye.

"How long have you been awake?"

Prescott swallowed. "L-Long enough, t'hear quite a f-fairytale," he replied. His voice was gravelly and fraught with pain.

Ana's eyebrows came together in a mock scowl. "What do you mean, Sir," she said. "The lieutenant in thatstory is my brother, and he's a hero no matter how fervently he denies it." Prescott rolled his eye. The playful smile that had been on Ana's face faded. Her visage turned somber. "My God, Pres, I was so scared," she said, her voice made small by her fear.

Pulling his hand from her grasp, Prescott reached up to her shoulder. With a pain filled moan, he pulled himself up and wrapped his arm around his sister. She could feel his body trembling, and his breath coming in short, quick gasps. She could not comprehend the agony he must have felt, and still he was trying to comfort her.

Tears streamed out from her eyes with renewed vigor. Mindful of the bandages on his back, she firmly returned his embrace. No matter how much she wanted to just melt in the security of her older brother's arms, Ana brushed away her fear. Prescott had been tortured for days because he was trying to protect her. He had suffered enough. He had been strong long enough. He was the one who deserved comfort. With every fiber of her being, Ana willed her strength to go to Prescott. In doing so, she realized for the first time, that pain wasn't causing Prescott's shoulders to shake. He was crying. "It's okay, now, Pres," she whispered soothingly, stroking his hair. In over twenty years, she had never once seen Prescott break down. The world had fallen down around him so many times, and he had remained standing tall. Never once had he ever let himself feel helpless or lost.

Ana closed her eyes, as she continued to run her hands over Prescott's hair. A hatred stronger than any she had ever felt burned in her chest. Prescott was the best man she knew, and a worthless excuse for a pirate had nearly cost her brother his life. Years ago, at Admiral Fornin's ball, Prescott had promised to hunt Boothe down in the event of his escape. Well, now he would do so with his sister at his side. In that moment, Ana vowed that Boothe would pay for what he'd done.

Gradually, her brother seemed to accept Ana's comfort. By the time, she helped him to lay back down, she would have never known he had shed a single tear. "I'm so sorry, Pres," she said, quietly, her eyes drifting for the first time to her brother's missing arm. She felt a pang in her chest. "I know Boothe was looking for me.This wasall my fault."

"It usually is," Prescott rasped, a smile softening his words as he took his sister's hand in his own.

Ana grinned broadly. "You're enjoying the fact that I feel too guilty to slap you silly, aren't you?"

The injured officer gave a small nod.

A quiet knock at the door stopped the sibling's rapport. "Come in," Ana called.

The elderly doctor slipped in the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said. "But your cousin asked me to tell you something."

Prescott's eyebrow rose, as he looked up at his sister. She had to remember to explain her ruse to him, as soon as he was well enough to join in her lie.

"Jack," Ana said out of the side of her mouth, hoping the one word explanationn would do for now. "What did he say?" she said, aloud.

"_Loyalty_ is gone."

TBC

Alright, no reviews about me leaving you with an evil cliffy. Everyone is safe and well for the moment, so I won't hear any complaints (actually, I'll listen to any feedback)

I was so so so happy that you were all so outraged that I would even consider killing Prescott. Tell you the truth, I wasn't going to kill him, I just wanted to make you sweat a bit (yeah, that is a bit evil) Anyway, thank you so much for all the reviews. Please keep them coming!


	11. Hope

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from PotC.

A/N: Thank you so much for all of your wonderful feedback. I was so happy that you all worried so much about Prescott, and that you seem to love him as much as I do! He may have a bit of a rough road ahead, but he's got so many devoted reviewers to support him :-) Anyway, now onto the chappy ...

Chapter Eleven "Hope"

Admiral Shane Delaney did not look up as James entered his office. He was seated behind an oversized, cherry wood desk with a map spread out in front of him. Two other men, both Captains in Delaney's squadron, were standing around their commanding officer offering their speculations about who might have stolen the _Loyalty_ and where they had taken her. So far as Norrington could tell, no one had mentioned Black Charlie Boothe, as of yet.

Delaney did not appear to be paying much attention to his subordinates' theories. His green eyes were judiciously locked on the chart on the desk, but he was obviously lost in thoughts that took him far away from this office. He knew that Boothe was the obvious suspect. He also knew that the loathsome pirate had come to Kingston to find Anamaria Tarret, a woman in whom the Admiral had more than a casual interest. What Delaney did not know was why Boothe had broken out of prison to find Annie, and, despite his loyalty to his commanding officer, Norrington had no intention of shedding any light on that subject.

James did not want to hinder the investigation in any way, nor did he have anything against Admiral Delaney personally. He was a very capable officer who rarely bent to the political pressures placed on men in his position, and he handled _Dauntless_ and the other vessels in his squadron with the ease of a seasoned sailor. Still, even a man as focused on his duty to the Crown as Norrington, could not help but think that Delaney only flew the Admiral's pennant because his friend, Prescott Tarret, had vacated the position. Delaney was ten years Prescott's senior. The chances of him outliving Prescott and inheriting the position of Admiral in the West Indies would have been very slim. Shane Delaney was the son of a very prominent Lord in England. Doubtless, he could have bought an Admiral's flag in time, but not Prescott's flag. Norrington simply could not help but think that Delaney was lucky enough to have been in the right place at the right time so that he could slide into a position meant for another man.

James rolled his eyes surreptitiously. He did not hold the Admiral in the highest regard, but that was a fact he fully intended to keep secret. He only wished that Delaney had not set his sights on Annie. He did not deserved Prescott's job, and he was even less deserving of Prescott's sister.

"Ah, Captain Norrington," Delaney finally took notice of the newest addition to his office. "Gentleman," he addressed the other Captains. "Would you please excuse us for a moment?" The two men nodded, for even though Delaney's words had seemed a question, the Captains heard them for the order they really were. One never refused an Admiral's suggestion.

Norrington approached the giant desk, standing even after Delaney had motioned for him to be seated. "You sent for me, Sir?" he said, not completely able to keep the irritation from his words. He had still been at the hospital when word filtered in that _Loyalty_ had been stolen from the harbor. The summons from the Admiral's office had come down hot on that information's heels, before James had the chance to see Prescott. To say he had been annoyed would have been a gross understatement.

Delaney, apparently ignoring Norrington's displeasure, rose to his feet and leaned across the desk. "I think we both know who was responsible for _Loyalty_'s theft," he started, his voice lowered despite the fact that no sound could have seeped from his vast office. "You were the one who sent word to me that Miss Tarret's life may have been in danger." Norrington shifted his weight, crossing his arms. "What made you think Boothe would try to harm her?"

James wanted Black Charlie Boothe apprehended, and _Loyalty_ recovered just as much as any man, perhaps more. However, he did not want to mention the circumstances of Boothe's initial capture, nor give any indication that those events may have precipitated Boothe's reappearance in Kingston. For one thing, he did not want to implicate himself. For another, Prescott Tarret's good name had been besmirched long enough by the Navy brass and the well to do of Kingston. "When I discovered Captain Tarret," Norrington paused only slightly as Admiral Delaney's eyebrow rose. When Prescott had deserted, he had effectively forfeited his commission. As far as Admiralty was concerned his years of heroic service were for naught. He was an ordinary citizen, not to mention a wanted criminal. James made no apology for referring to Prescott by his former rank. He had, in fact, barely bit off the urge to call him Admiral Tarret. "One of Boothe's men came forward. He said that Boothe had been torturing Captain Tarret in order to obtain the whereabouts of his sister. I'm afraid the information came through no insight of my own."

"Then, you have no idea why this man was looking for Miss Tarret?"

"No, Sir," Norrington said, telling a bold faced lie to his superior.

The Admiral nodded absently as he walked towards the window overlooking Kingston harbor. The sun shone brightly outside, illuminating the white sails of the ships moored there, calling extra attention to the dark empty water where _Loyalty_ had been only hours before.

"Will you be taking the fleet out after her?" James asked, joining Delaney by the window.

"As soon as we're able to discern the most likely course Boothe would have taken," Delaney answered. "_Interceptor_'s aid would be most welcomed."

Norrington simply nodded. Once again, the Admiral's orders were cloaked beneath a polite invitation. He had expected Delaney to seek his assistance. He knew Delaney would not miss the opportunity to bolster his squad's strength. "How are you planning to proceed with Captain Tarret?"

The Admiral frowned. "You mean Prescott Tarret, deserter turned pirate?"

James cleared his throat. "Perhaps it is not my place, Sir, but you will certainly gain no favor with Miss Tarret if you intend to hang her brother. He is the only family she has left."

Delaney's sharp green eyes instantly fixed themselves on James. "No, Captain," he emphasized James' inferior rank with a slight inflection of his voice. "It is not your place," he sighed. "I cannot show leniency to a pirate merely to win a woman's affections."

James was careful that his face remain impassive. "There is also the fact that Captain Tarret will find out sooner or later that his ship has been taken. He will go after her." Again, James made no apologies for claiming that _Loyalty_ still belonged to Prescott, even though she lawfully belonged to the Royal Navy. She would have been one of the ships sailing in Delaney's squadron.

The Admiral gave a gruff laugh. "I've long heard stories of Prescott Tarret's considerable ability, but in his condition, he will not be chasing after anyone."

"You'd be surprised," James said under his breath.

"Have _Interceptor_ ready to embark by the week's end," Delaney instructed. He returned to his desk and began reexamining the chart, effectively ending the discussion.

Norrington headed immediately back to the hospital. Shaking his head, he could not help but think that Prescott would certainly find out about _Loyalty_'s disappearance. He would demand to be part of the pursuit, and the week's end would not be soon enough.

88888

"Are you out of your mind?" Anamaria demanded as she stormed into Jack Sparrow's hospital room.

The pirate was up and dressed in Prescott's uniform. The cutlass was buckled around his waist, and his hand rested comfortably on the sword's hilt. Saying nothing, Jack regarded the lady with his intensely dark stare.

"Well?" Ana placed her hands on her hips. "Are you going to answer me?"

The pirate grinned. "Sorry, luv," he said. "Normally when I'm asked tha' question, it's rhetorical."

Ana lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean telling my brother that _Loyalty's _been taken?" she asked through gritted teeth. "He has enough on his mind with his recovery. He doesn't need to be burdened with a bloody boat."

"Ship."

The stitches running along the pirate's hairline were the only things keeping Ana from slapping the man silly. "Are you even listening to me?"

Jack lifted his chin. Removing his hand from the sword, he crossed his arms. His expression hardened slightly. "With all do respect, darling, shouldn't Scotty be the one to decide what t'worry about?"

Ana scowled. "Of course," she conceded. "But he is in no position to go gallivanting across the Caribbean, so why even tell him?"

"No. No. We hardly ever gallivant," he said, moving past Ana, but pausing as he reached the door. "The man lost 'is arm," he said, his voice soft but deadly serious. "I will not force 'im to lose his dignity and self-respect by insisting that 'e stay behind while I go after our ship."

Ana's shoulders slumped. Jack was right, but she was worried about her brother. He had already been through so much, and he _had_ lost his arm. If he was going to make any sort of recovery, he needed to rest. Going after Boothe could only end up causing him more pain, but apparently she was not going to find an ally in the pirate.

"Besides," Jack went on, an edge creeping into his voice. "Your brother's a pirate, wanted by the government. What do ye really think your _friend_ the Admiral plans to do with 'im?" Jack exited the room, closing the door behind him. His question hung in the air.

88888

Someone was speaking, saying his name. The voice was murky and unclear, as though Prescott were hearing it from underwater. His head began to ache as he slowly regained his senses. He did not want to open his eyes. The pain would only deepen. The cuts on his back burned. The bruises dotting his chest throbbed. He wanted to stay wrapped in the smothering blanket of unconsciousness. He did not want to see anyone. He certainly did not want to speak to anyone. If he just stayed asleep, he could almost convince himself that this was all some horrible nightmare. Except when he woke up, the terror only intensified. The agony he felt became more real.

Annie had left when the doctor had brought news that his ship had been taken. He wasn't sorry for the reprieve. He had hated the look in his little sister's eyes. She had glanced at his arm, the arm that was no longer there, and she had pitied him. He had seen his own questions reflected in her eyes. How would he be able to sail, to fight, to protect himself or anyone else with only one arm? He had been right handed. He would have to relearn almost every aspect of his life. Would he ever wield a sword again? Would he even be able to write his own name? Not that any of those questions would be answered. In his current state, he would be hard pressed to escape, even if he or Jack could come up with a brilliant plan. He would be sentenced to die for crimes committed against a country he'd spent the majority of his life serving. He'd go to the noose as a cripple, pitied by the mob of people who would turn out to see a pirate go to meet his maker..

Every one of those thoughts had bombarded him as he'd looked into Annie's eyes. He'd lost it. Fear, doubt, regret, and pain had poured out as he cried on his sister's shoulder. She had held him as he wept, as he couldn't stop weeping. She told him that everything was okay, but her words held no conviction. She didn't believe it, how could he? He was the one that was supposed to protect her. She was supposed to be able to depend on him. How could he protect her now?

Again, he heard someone speak his name. He felt a hand on his forearm. Jack. A stab of pain pierced Prescott's heart. For two years he had sailed under the black flag with Jack Sparrow, all the while arguing jovially about who really captained the _Loyalty_. The wily pirate had become his brother, in ways that Findley never lived long enough to be. Prescott did not have to stand in front of Jack to shield him from danger and the harsh realities of life. Jack stood beside Prescott. They fought for each other, protected each other. Jack was not Prescott's responsibility. Jack was Prescott's equal. At least, he used to be. How on earth could Prescott live up to his end of the bargain now? He would be Jack's responsibility, an extra burden that the pirate did not need. He'd probably come to tell Prescott as much.

"Scotty?"

The haze was lifting. It was getting harder to stay asleep. He might as well face the music. Slowly, he opened his eyes to face his shipmate, soon to be his former shipmate. As it had before, the pain exploded as he opened his only functioning eye. He became agonizingly aware of every scrap and bruise he had sustained. How he wished he could clamp it shut and return to oblivion. Instead, he tried to produce a smile. Jack was still wearing a Navy uniform. The vest no longer bore the stains of the pirate's blood. He was also wearing a blue wool Captain's jacket. Prescott furrowed his brow. "Is that m-my uniform?" he asked.

Jack nodded, suddenly looking embarrassed.

In spite of his pain, Prescott smiled. "Jack S-Sparrow's wearing my uniform," he said. "I've gone to hell, haven't I?"

The pirate laughed. "I'm supposed t'be your cousin," he said. "Long lost, of course. From Spain."

"I wasn't aware I had any Spanish pirates in the family," Prescott teased softly. His throat still stung when he spoke, and his voice was reduce to a scratchy whisper. He must seem so pathetic.

Jack grinned. "Did ye get me message?" he asked, getting down to the purpose of his visit.

Prescott gave a weak nod, bracing himself for what Jack was about to say. He could hear the words. _Sorry, Scotty, but I have t' go after her alone. You'd only slow me down._ For the second time that day, he felt like weeping. At least, Jack had the presence of mind to keep the pity from his eyes. Instead, the pirate seemed to be searching Prescott's face. His calloused hand gently squeezed Prescott's arm. The injured officer broke the stare, lowering his gaze. In doing so, he noticed for the first time the bundle in Jack's other hand. "What's that?" he asked, casting a glance at the vacant spot where his right arm should have been and silently adding that he'd never again be able to carry two things at once.

"Clothes," Jack said, raising the bundle so that Prescott's one eye could see it better. "Wesley's store in town was nice enough t'donate them to you."

"What?"

Jack shrugged. "Well, I'm not often in Kingston, but I think ye'd raise a few eyebrows if ye walked through the streets in jus' your bandages," he said.

Prescott's lips parted, but no sound came out. Maybe he had been mistaken about the intent of Jack's visit. "What am I going to be doing in the streets of Kingston?" he asked, his voice strengthened by hope.

"Preparing t' commandeer yet another ship of the fleet to go after the last one ye stole," Sparrow winked conspiratorially.

Furrowing his aching brow, Prescott eyed the pirate Captain. Jack had not come to tell him the sad news, that he was leaving to find _Loyalty_ alone. Instead, the pirate had just declared that he and Prescott were going to go after her. A two man crew under normal circumstances would barely be able to handle a fishing boat, but only three hands to sail a ship of war? Now, he knew Jack was crazy. "How exactly are we going to sail anything out of the harbor," he said. "There's only two of us."

"That, Scotty, is up t'you," Jack said, standing up. He left the bundle of clothes on the edge of the bed.

If he'd had enough energy, Prescott would have sighed. "To me?" That was the second time he'd heard someone tell him that his fate was in his own hands … hand. What on God's green earth did Jack expect him to do?

"Aye," Jack crossed the room and picked up two extra pillows. Placing the pillows behind Prescott, he, very gingerly, helped the injured officer sit up.

The room suddenly took off spinning. Prescott clamped his eyes shut in a vain effort to halt the fevered movement of the world around him. Slowly, he reopened his eye, slightly surprised that Jack, and the rest of the room, had decided to hold still. Breathing heavier than he would have liked, Prescott glared at his shipmate. "It won't do to kill me before the escape," he quipped.

Jack paused, putting his finger to his lip as though he were seriously considering Prescott's words. "Ye may be right," he conceded. "Long wooden boxes tend to call attention." Shrugging elaborately, he perched on the end of the bed. "Lucky for ye, tha' wasn't me plan," he said.

"Enlighten me, then," Prescott said, taking in the fact that his throat had not screamed in agony as he spoke. His breath was coming easier, and he forgot that only moments earlier he had wanted to sink into darkness and never wake up. He almost felt strong enough to argue with the pirate.

Gesturing with his hands, Jack began to detail his plan in his customary sing song manner. "The Admiral will be taking the fleet out after _Loyalty_ –"

"_Loyalty_ is one ship," Prescott interrupted. "One ship that the Royal Navy has functioned perfectly well without for the past two years. Why would an Admiral risk his squadron to chase after her?"

"Ah," Sparrow started, index finger in the air, signaling that Prescott had asked the very question Jack wanted him to ask. "Wha' if said Admiral happened to be enamored with your dear sister? Would not anyone, such as Black Charlie Boothe, who 'ad tried to harm 'er be subject to 'is wrath?"

"Of course," Prescott said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, we simply hitch a ride with Delaney. Why didn't I think of that … oh wait, maybe I didn't think of it cause I'm notinsane," he had attempted to raise his voice, which still hurt terribly. His words descended into a choking cough.

As soon as the coughing subsided, and the look of concern left Jack's face, he smiled triumphantly. "See what 'appens when you say stupid things."

Prescott glared, silently.

Apparently satisfied that he'd had the last word, Sparrow went on. "Takes a few days at least to ready the squad, right Admiral Tarret?" Prescott nodded. "Takes half as long to ready one ship …" Prescott nodded again. He was beginning to see where Sparrow was going with this. "One ship like, say, the _Interceptor?"_

"You want me to take advantage of the man who saved my life?"

"Wouldn't be the first time, mate."

Prescott pursed his lips. True, he had made use of James in the past to chase after pirates, namely his sister's not so dead husband. He had never been above lying to anyone, even a friend, to get what he wanted. He could excuse all manner of means to reach an acceptable end. This time though, he thought back to the night James had gone along with the ruse that placed Boothe in prison, he may not have to resort to dishonesty. He could still remember the appalled looked on Norrington's face when Black Charlie had made particularly lewd comments about Annie. Boothe had completely assaulted James' sense of propriety. He was a pirate, one of the men Norrington had spent his career trying to rid from the world. That pirate had threatened a woman who had become like a sister to James. And, that pirate was bent on revenge. Prescott and James had been the ones responsible for sending him to _Vanth_, which meant they were partly to blame. Prescott could play to James' senses of duty, honor, and guilt. He smiled slyly. "You know Sparrow, that just might work."

TBC

Well, there you have it! Please, leave me a review and tell me how I'm doing.


	12. The Mermaid

Disclaimer: I own nothing from PotC.

The Mermaid

Sighing, Prescott held his aching body as rigid as possible while trying to keep his balance on top of a pair of legs that were not following orders. His knees felt shaky and weak, cuts from the thick ropes that had bound his ankles burned with a steadily increasing fire, and his thighs throbbed in rhythm with the many bruises they'd sustained. The simple act of rising to his feet had nearly exhausted his resolve to escape. He was tired, frustrated, and angry at his body for failing him. Not to mention, the fact that he was utterly humiliated by having to ask for assistance in dressing. Helpless as a child, he stood, jaw clenched, as the doctor fastened the buttons on the vest that Jack had "borrowed" for him.

What worse, was that Prescott happened to recognize the elderly doctor who was now helping him into a particularly fine pair of leather boots, apparently Jack only stole the best for his shipmates. This doctor, now stooped with age, had once been a surgeon in Admiral Fornin's service aboard the _Dauntless._ This doctor had been the one to remove a bullet meant for Fornin from Prescott's shoulder. This doctor had been present when Prescott was promoted to post Captain. Now, he was witness to a man who could barely stand by his own strength. The former officer rolled his eyes at the contrasting images of himself, dashing Naval hero turned dependent cripple.

Taking hold of Prescott's arm and placing a steadying hand gently on the man's back, the doctor helped him to sit on the edge of the bed. The older man clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth disapprovingly. "It's much to early for you to be on your feet," he said.

Prescott glared from behind a resolute blue eye. "So you've said, ten times at least."

The physician shook his head. "You need to be resting."

Having to restrain himself from shouting at the man, Prescott drew a deep breath. His throat still ached whenever he spoke. He probably couldn't have shouted had he wanted to. He should just hit the doctor and have done with it. "Doctor Brendwhite, you know me," he said, his scratchy voice low and quiet. "You know that had I time to rest, I would."

"I know, Captain Tarret, that you push yourself too hard and that you will ignore a physician's advice no matter how many times he gives it," the elderly man said dryly, the hint of a smile coloring his wrinkled face. Prescott, his anger abated, returned the smile, noting that the doctor still showed him the respect due his former title. "I also know that, if you heed my recommendation and stay in bed, you will hang, charged as a traitor to your country. I do not care what I read in the papers, I know you were never that, nor will you be."

"You claim to know a lot," Prescott said, humbled by the man's kind words.

"You will go, Captain, no matter what I counsel. I wish you the same luck that has followed you thus far in life. I'm going to go make you some tea, with herbs that will ease the pain in your throat. The voice does not return to us easily after disuse," the doctor paused, glancing knowingly at Prescott's injuries. "Disuse, or overuse." Shaking his head sadly, Doctor Brendwhite turned and left the room.

Leaning his brutalized back against the stack of pillows piled up behind him, Prescott let his eyes fall closed. Overuse, that was a nice way of putting it. Prescott had fought for what seemed like an eternity against the agony Boothe rained down on him. He swore he'd be damned before Boothe broke him. He had literally bit down on his lips to avoid crying out. When he had finally succumbed, he hardly knew the screams to be his own. Opening his one functioning eye, Prescott shoved those memories back into the recesses of his mind as James Norrington stepped into the room.

"Prescott," he said, astonished. His wide eyes took in the clothes that Prescott was wearing. "You cannot seriously be thinking of leaving?"

The older officer let a smile slowly spread across his face. "I am," he said. "And you're going to help me."

88888

Anamaria shivered against the fast cooling night air. After a fruitless argument with Jack, she had left the hospital. She had a feeling that most arguments with the pirate were probably fruitless. So many times she'd heard that fresh air did a person some amount of good. At the moment, it wasn't helping at all. Still, on she walked, aimlessly, not caring where she ended up. She found herself desperately longing for a normal life. A life where pirates never showed up at her house in the dead of the night. A life in which she didn't have to worry about her latest suitor hanging her older brother. She paused in front of an inn on one of Kingston's main thoroughfares. Inside, families were seated at tables enjoying a meal near a warm hearth. For the only time in her life, she envied those people. They could go to sleep at night and not have to face the fact that their loved ones were criminals, continually hunted by the Royal Navy.

Then, quickly as those jealous thoughts entered her brain, Ana banished them back to the abyss. Recalling her night of sin spent with a pirate, she knew that she never would have been happy as a dutiful wife to a man in a safe, respectable profession. Her eyes fluttered. One deliciously sinful night.

"Miss Tarret?"

Ana's eyes popped open. "Admiral Delaney," she greeted, hoping the passionate memories hadn't tinged her voice.

The officer, worried expression firmly planted on his face, hurried to Ana's side. He extended his arm, and the lady took it. "What are you doing out at this hour without – " Shane bit off his sentence, which would have ended "without an escort," when he saw Ana's warning glare. "I mean, I assumed you would still be at the hospital."

Ana's face softened. "I needed some air," she said.

"How is your brother?"

Pausing for a moment, Ana gave the question more consideration than Shane was probably expecting. She wanted to ask the Admiral how he would be doing after being tortured by a madman, but she managed some restraint. "He was grievously injured. He only escaped from Boothe's custody by cutting off his own arm. The doctor tells me he will likely recover, but past that I'm afraid I cannot presume to say how he is." Only a small degree of restraint, but restraint nonetheless.

Shane's eyes widened. "I apologize if I offended …"

Ana shook her head. "No need," she said. "I've had a very trying day. I didn't mean to snap at you." Not entirely true. "I imagine you've been informed of _Loyalty_'s disappearance." She changed the subject.

Delaney nodded. "I'll be taking the squad out after her at the weeks end."

"Will Captain Norrington be going with you?"

"I've asked _Interceptor_ to provide assistance, yes." He pursed his lips. "I thought that including him would offer some small comfort to your brother."

"Yes, I'm sure Prescott will be comforted by the knowledge that his ship is safely back in the King's service when you send him to the noose," Ana snapped. To hell with restraint.

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If Prescott would have lived long enough to see a deer caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic, he would have made the comparison between the horrified animal and Captain James Norrington. The younger officer stared at his friend, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly. Several times, he closed his mouth opening it again with every intent of speaking only to find his voice unresponsive. Prescott could have watched the spectacle all day, if only he had the time.

"James," he started quietly. Norrington was an intelligent man. The pirate would have to choose his words carefully. "I know that Delaney will mobilize his squadron. He knows Boothe was here for Annie and apparently Annie has caught his eye. He wants to be a hero for the damsel in distress." Prescott paused, hoping that Norrington's shock had worn off enough for him to listen to the plan. "But, Delaney doesn't know the damsel very well, nor the enemy he will be pursuing. I do, and so do you."

Norrington, finally able to keep his jaw from dropping to the ground, regarded his friend critically. "I am to take _Interceptor_ out with the fleet," he said, by way of a refusal.

"I figured as much." Prescott had, indeed, supposed that Delaney would use every resource available to him, _Interceptor_ included. No ship in the Caribbean could compare with _HMS Interceptor_. She had been streamlined, built for speed, the ideal craft to take out in pursuit of a pirate. A sensible Admiral would use that speed to his advantage and send her out as a reconnaissance vessel. "You know that Delaney will use you as a scout ship," he said.

James nodded.

"All manner of things can happen at sea, James," Prescott smiled slyly. "_Interceptor_ could be caught in a storm, blown off course, attacked by pirates … anything could happen to separate her from the rest of the squad."

Recovering himself enough to regain his sense of duty, James protested. "Prescott, let's say I agree with this fool plan – "

"You have to agree, James," Prescott interrupted, ready to play the ace up his sleeve. "We're to blame for this, you and I." Calling upon his body to obey his commands, he leaned forward slightly, irritated by the pain caused by the tiny movement. A small groan escaped his lips without warning. James placed a hand on Prescott's shoulder, the shoulder that ended only inches below his palm. "Boothe wouldn't be bent on revenge if we hadn't sent him to _Vanth,_" he continued, noting with pleasure that his wincing had only made his words seem more urgent. "Our sins, mine of commission yours of omission, brought Boothe back into our lives, back into Annie's life."

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James almost staggered when hit with the full force of Prescott's statement. His stare, not weakened at all by the fact that it came from only one eye, was glaringly intense. His words were damning. He was right, of course. Prescott may have been the one directly responsible for sending Black Charlie Boothe to prison, but Norrington had known the fallacy of the charges. He could have stopped the injustice. He hadn't. James had believed, just as fervently as Prescott, that Boothe deserved whatever corner of hell he was sent to. He had been given the opportunity to expose Prescott's lie. Admiral Fornin, himself, had asked James to either confirm or deny Prescott's allegations. He said nothing against the older officer, and by his silence he was equally responsible for what had happened. In some way, he was just as much to blame for the deaths of Prescott's crew and the loss of _Loyalty_. He was to blame for endangering Annie and, his breath caught in his throat, he was to blame for each cut and bruise on his friend's battered body. He became painfully aware of Prescott's missing arm. He could still see the older man's blood spilling onto the deck of Boothe's ship and his arm staked to a table in the hold.

Prescott exhaled, and leaned back on the pillows stacked up on the bed. Determination seemed to be the only thing keeping the injured man going. "I admit," he started, his voice soft and rasping. "In the past, I've tricked you into going along with me, but this is no trick. Accept or refuse, James, the decision is yours. You will live with it."

Norrington knew that Prescott was playing on his guilt, counting on it, in fact. He could see that the former Admiral had no other options. If he refused, Prescott had no one else to turn to, no contingency plan. Still, the older officer was not begging for James to accept. Prescott was no fool. He had not charmed his way to the highest Naval office in the Caribbean. Prescott was cunning. He always had been. He knew that his whole scheme was dependent upon Norrington's decision. He also knew that James could not refuse. James valued his duty to his King above almost everything. Everything but Annie.

"If I agree," Norrington said. "I will be aiding a pirate in an escape from British custody, because I know you have no intention of sailing _Loyalty_ back to Kingston. I will be guilty of treason."

The injured officer grinned. "James, if I can teach you anything about making a career in the Royal Navy, let it be that a man can defend any action, no matter how treacherous, with the right mixture of truth and … creativity."

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The Admiral blanched when faced with such cutting words from one very irate woman. Annie, hands on hips and eyes flashing, was not going to let him gracefully sidestep her accusation. "Really, Shane," she continued. "How exactly do you expect this to work? Am I supposed to stand by your side and admire your willingness to do your duty while you sentence my brother to death?"

"Please, Anamaria," Delaney stuttered. "This isn't the time or the place …"

Ana held up her hand. "Not wise, Admiral," she said. "This is precisely the time and the place. Out here in the street, in plain view of the distinguished Kingston townsfolk, I am less likely to slap that surprised look off of your face and into next week! Need I remind you that I have buried both of my parents, my husband, and one brother already. Prescott is the only family I have left. I cannot let you take him from me, so I will have my answer, Shane. Are you intending to hang him?"

"You know I have to."

"You don't." Ana raised her chin. "You choose to, and that choice is between me and your precious career."

Placing his hands on Ana's shoulders, Delaney stepped closer. "You know I care for you," he said, his voice soft and almost sincere. "If there were some way that I could get around this, I would take it. But your brother is a pirate. The choice was his. Prescott knows better than anyone what penalty would await him if he were ever caught."

Ana crossed her arms. Of course, Prescott knew what could happen. Anyone in the Caribbean knew that piracy was a capital crime, punishable by death. And, yes, he went anyway. He went because he had made a promise to Jack Sparrow. He went for honor. He was a pirate, but he was not a traitor. "As I said, Shane, you made your choice. Your flag is more important to you than I am." Ana's amber eyes flared, her voice was low and fierce. "I hope that when you're lying in bed at night, with only that flag to keep you warm, you remember that flag belonged to Prescott. You were second choice, at best."

Delaney let his hands fall from Ana's arms. He stepped away from her. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Miss Tarret. Now, if you'll excuse me, I was on my way to the hospital."

"Off to gloat in Prescott's face?"

"No." The Admiral laughed. "Actually, I was off to find Captain Norrington. I'd sent him to break the news to your brother. I figured that was the least I could do for a former colleague." Nodding curtly, he placed the Navy blue tricorner back on his head and stalked up the street in the direction of the hospital.

Ana quirked an eyebrow. James is with Prescott? Her eyes shifted from the empty street to the moonlit harbor, resting on the silhouette of _Interceptor_. She had just gone on about Prescott being the man more deserving of the position of Admiral in the West Indies. If asked in confidence, many men in His Majesty's service would agree with Ana's opinion. Prescott had been an officer of rare ability, but he was more than just a capable commander. He had the uncanny ability to outsmart any adversary. He was always one step ahead of his foe. Now, Admiral Shane Delaney was one of those foes, just as Black Charlie Boothe was. Anyone who'd ever known Prescott Tarret would know that he would not simply lie down and accept defeat. Never.

Ana crossed her arms, her eyes still set on _Interceptor_. "What are you up to, Pres?" she asked the stars.

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"Ready to go?" Jack slipped into the room, silently, his words being the first sound to alert Prescott of his presence.

Cracking his eye open, Prescott nodded. "Glad to see you've given up on my uniform," he whispered. Jack, now wearing brown pants and a deep crimson shirt, only smiled in response. He gestured to his hip, where Prescott's cutlass still hung. The injured officer rolled his eyes. "Figures," he said. "And I see you've brought your libation of choice," he pointed to the rum bottle, clutched firmly in Jack's hand. "Was that donated too?"

Jack approached the bed. "Of course not. I stole it." The light of the moon illuminated Jack's trademark grin, glinting off of his gold teeth. "Am I t'assume by you're gentile manner tha' Norrington has agreed t'go along with us, then?"

"James has agreed to go along with me," Prescott clarified. "I think it wise to spring you on him after we're well out to sea."

One of Jack's dark eyebrow rose, questioningly. "So much for bein' honest wit 'im."

Prescott shrugged, as much as his injuries would allow. "I said honest, not stupid. Norrington would never have agreed to this if he knew you were involved." Sparrow nodded his acquiescence. "Now, as much as I would love to share that bottle with you," Prescott went on, somewhat dismayed by how much he truly desired the liquor. Sparrow's way of life had affected him more than he'd realized. "I'd say we should be more concerned with how we're going to get through town without being noticed."

"Aye," the wily pirate grinned widely. "An' what's more commonplace on the streets late at night than a couple o' drunks?"

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Admiral Shane Delaney left the Navy Hospital fuming. Second choice, at best? Those had been Anamaria's words. It wasn't as though he hadn't said as much to himself in moments of self doubt, but how much worse was it to hear the same doubts from another. Especially when that other happened to be a woman for whom he cared very deeply. A woman that he spent many of his days trying to impress.

"_Then up spoke the Captain of our gallant ship_," a drunk just up the street was singing boisterously.

"_And a fine old man was he_," the second, leaning heavily on the first, chimed in.

"_A fishy mermaid has warned me of our doom. We shall sink to the bottom of the sea!_"

"_And the ocean waves do roll_," they were singing in slurred unison now. "_And the stormy winds do blow. And we poor sailors are skipping at the top while the land lubbers lie down below below BELOW!_" The pair passed by Shane, one raising his near empty bottle to the Admiral. "_And the land lubbers lie down below!_"

Delaney nodded in return to the salute. In a way, he envied those two men. Drunk as lords, bellowing in the streets. What worries could they possibly have?

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"Goodnight, Captain Norrington," the sentry guarding the prison entrance said to James.

The Captain nodded in response. He'd been visiting Gates, the one member of Boothe's crew who seemed to regret what he had done. Or, he was at least scared enough by learning that Prescott was an officer in the King's Navy, a little lie that James hadn't bothered correcting, that he was willing to cooperate with the authorities. James had been hoping to learn where Boothe was headed. Gates had not been able to lend much aid, but he did divulge the location of a hidden cove where they used to stop to repair their ship. Norrington was disappointed, he had wanted to learn Boothe's plans, but this, at least, was a start.

"_The up spoke the mate of our gallant ship_," the slurred voice of a drunk man drifted into James' thoughts. Squinting to see up the dark street, he spied two inebriated men stumbling towards him.

"_And a fine stropping lad was he_," a second voice joined in the shanty.

"_He says I've a wife in Kingston by the sea and this night a widow she will be!_"

"_And the ocean waves do roll,_" both men raised their voices for the chorus. "_And the stormy winds to blow. And we poor sailors are skipping at the top while the land lubbers lie down below below BELOW!_"

James smiled, raising his hat, at the men as they staggered past. "_And the land lubbers lie down below_," he added, silently completing the song his crew had sang a thousand times. He rarely drank, himself, but seeing the pair of carefree men, he so longed to lose his worries in a stiff drink.

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Concealing herself in the shadows by the docks, for it was quite improper for a lady to be so near the harbor at night, Ana was still trying in vain to ascertain what ploy her brother was cooking up. She hadn't seen Jack since she stormed out of the hospital earlier that evening, but she had no doubt that he was involved somehow. She shuddered to think what sort of a plan two pirates would concoct, especially since one of those pirates was quite insane.

"_Then up spoke the cook of our gallant ship_," Ana heard a man's intoxicated voice raised in song approaching from up the road.

"_And a crazy old butcher was he_," a second voice, just as drunk as the first, joined in.

"_He says I care much more for my pots and my pans than I do for the bottom of the sea!_"

"_And the ocean waves to roll_," Ana peeked out from her hiding spot just in time to hear both men bellow out the song in unison. "_And the stormy winds do blow. And we poor sailors are skipping at the top while the land lubbers lie down below below BELOW!_" The singers traipsed past. "_While the land lubbers lie down below._"

Both of Ana's dark brows rose in shock. Instead of two nameless, faceless drunks, she watched as her brother and Jack Sparrow headed down to the docks. She should have known. "Oh, no you don't," she whispered.

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"_And three times 'round spun our gallant ship_," Jack sang, waving his nearly empty bottle in the air.

"_And three times 'round spun she_," Prescott echoed, his own half empty bottle in the hand that was slung over Jack's shoulder. He'd reasoned that in order for him to sing gaily in the streets, he would have to be at least a little drunk. That, and the rum was helping to mask the pain that all this movement caused.

"_Three times 'round spun our gallant ship, and she sank to the bottom of the sea!_"

"_And the ocean waves do roll_," Prescott sang along with Jack for one last, triumphant chorus. "_And the stormy winds do blow. And we poor sailors are skipping at the top while the land lubbers lie down below below BELOW! While the land lubbers lie down be – low!_" They drew the last word out long, and loud.

"Right fine night ye've had, eh lads?" a man laughed from down in a rowboat.

"I'll drink t' that!" Jack lifted his bottle, as he helped a "drunk" Prescott to the small craft.

"Ye'll drink t'anything," Prescott responded, taking a swig from his own bottle.

"Where to gents?" the rower asked, pushing off from the dock.

"_Interceptor_!" Jack deliberately stumbled over the long word. "We've come t' commandeer 'er!"

"Aye," Prescott laid down in the bow, resting a hand over his throbbing head. "We're pirates!"

The man pulled for the _Interceptor_. "Sure ye are, lads."

TBC

Well, lads and lasses there ye have it! If anyone's interested the song is called "The Mermaid," hence the chapter title. It's sung by a lovely Irish group called the Clancy Brothers. Look it up if your looking for a song to sing loud and proud on St. Paddy's!

Now, I don't normally respond to you beautiful reviewers individually, and I can't say when I'll do it again, but you all are being so wonderful and saying such lovely things, that I feel like I must!

Rose of England: I feel the same way, about Jack losing one ship too many. I think this is part of his motivation for including Pres in the chase. He understands what it is to be without his ship, and he certainly understands the desire for revenge. As far as Norry, yeah, I'm a big fan. I know he's a very cut and dry military type, but I think that Pres was a mentor of sorts for him. That's why I think he would remain loyal. And, I'm not sure what to think of Delaney yet either. He's not a bad guy, but neither is he so good. I'm looking foward to seeing where he ends up!

Anon: Well, Jack and Pres may not be planning to include Ana, but I don't think she's the type to sit idly by!

Sylvia: Welcome back, I'm glad to see I haven't disappointed you.You cannot believe how happy I am that Pres seems to be so loved. I'm glad I'm not the only one :-) And I like stories of friendships as well. After ol' Bootstrap died, Ijust couldn't believe that Jack spent 10 years searching for his ship alone. So, now he's got Scotty, and we'll see what trouble they can get into!

Yuna-flowering: Gotta feel a bit sorry for James, he just gets sucked into things with Scotty, doesn't he? About the age difference between Ana and Delaney, yeah it's about 20 years. Still, Ana is such a rare woman that I think she would attract all kinds of guys. Also, Ana has had a hard life (losing so many family members) and she's a widow. I think she'd probably be quite mature for her age after seeing as much as she's seen. And, the age difference is undoubtedly part of the reason that Norry doesn't like Delaney courting her.

Cal: What can I say? Your novel length reviews are a joy to read. You keep me going. I feel I should scold you for your naughty thoughts about all the delicious men in Ana's life, but I can't quite bring myself to do it. If only we could all have problems like hers! Sorry, I had to make your tears fall for Pres. He's feeling a bit sorry for himself, and can you blame him? He has a long road ahead of him, but I'm sure he's still got a few tricks up his one remaining sleeve (ooh, bad joke). I'm glad you seem to enjoy the humor between the brothers. I think this is how both men deal with tough situations. Pres has had years of being strong for others to cause him to hide his feelings and Jack has major trust issues, so I just can't see them sobbing in each others arms. Maybe they will, cause this journey may be tough on them, but those warm fuzzy moments are going to be the exception to the rule, for now. And yes, Jack is so sexy! Now, I'll expect your review on Sunday, the moment you get home :-)

Freak87: I'm so glad to find other Norry fans out there. I think he's so much more complex than we see in the movie. Pres had to rub off a bit on him, eh? As for Delaney, he is a bit unsettling. I haven't quite decided if he's a rat or an honorable man or something inbetween, but I'm eager to see how he turns out.

Alicia: Whoa, your kind words have blown me away! I'm so happy you liked my background for Ana. I've read some of the former slave versions as well, and I really wanted to try something different. And, as I keep saying, I'm so happy you like Prescott, because I just love him. He does have his good points and bad, I think that's what keeps him interesting. I didn't want him to be the navy officer up on a pedestal who does no wrong, that would be boring and unbelievable. I like making him a little shady and underhanded sometimes :-) I was very interested that you connected Shane with Chris, I didn't notice the similarities until you brought it up. Interesting, maybe a bad omen? Lastly, as far as Pres' absence from "Kindling," it isn't forshadowing or anything. I just haven't found a place for him in that story. Maybe he'll show up maybe he won't, doesn't mean he's dead. breath of relief

To everyone else who's reviewed along the way THANK YOU! Please, keep them coming.


	13. Lefty

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize from PotC.

Chapter Thirteen: Lefty

"So, are we t'wait here till the whole fleet's ready t'leave?" Jack questioned as he paced back and forth in front of his shipmate.

Prescott lay, arm slung over his eyes, on Norrington's hammock. When he had first presented his plan to James, the ever dutiful officer had been quite concerned with what his crew would think of carrying a wanted man on board. Sailors are a superstitious lot, and something like that was bound to be bad luck. Prescott had promised to conceal himself within James' sleeping cabin. He said that as long as Norrington remembered to feed him, he would keep quiet and out of sight. So, here he and Jack were to stay. Not like he felt like moving, ever again, anyways. In fact, Prescott was thinking that he would rather like to die right about now. If every muscle in his body hadn't ached before he and Jack paraded through Kingston, it certainly did now. The arm he was missing was the only appendage that wasn't screaming in pain. Or, maybe it was but it was just too far away for him to hear. And, to make matters worse, he wasn't so sure that two bottles of rum the night previous had been such a great idea. The pounding headache that resulted from said decision, wasn't helping anything.

All Prescott wanted was to drift back into the oblivion of unconsciousness. Unfortunately, the pirate who was wearing a hole in the floorboards of Norrington's cabin was making that a bit tricky. Jack seemed to have some difficulty with the prospect of three days inaction, a piece of information that he might have made known before now. Three days with nothing to do but sleep sounded rather like heaven to Prescott. Sadly, he doubted that would happen.

"I hate to be the one to mention this," Prescott started, his voice tired and scratchy. His voice had been getting stronger, less painful to use, but down he was back to awful misery every time he spoke. He had the impromptu evening of song to thank for that. "But, t'was you who couldn't wait to free me from the confines of the Naval Hospital. So, it's also you to blame for three days cooped up in here."

"Three days there, or three days 'ere is still three days waiting." Sparrow answered, his incessant pacing not wavering.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jack," Prescott sighed, finally moving his arm from over his eyes accepting the fact that he would not be getting to sleep anytime soon. "You've spent most of your life on ships," he paused, cracking open an eye. The world spun for a few seconds, as usual. He was almost getting used to the chaotic whirling. As soon as the slow rocking of a ship at anchor was the only movement Prescott felt, he fixed his eye on his shipmate. "Don't tell me you've never stayed in your cabin for a few days." Prescott could recall times when the ineptitude of his officers or crew had driven him to slam his cabin door and stay inside until some fool drew the short straw and had to come brave his Captain's temper.

"Not if I can help it," came Jack's short reply.

To anyone who hadn't been carefully watching the pirate, the slight misstep might have gone unnoticed. Prescott, however, had learned to watch for the almost imperceptible signs. The minute change in pace was the only indication that all was not well with his shipmate. Jack Sparrow was a man who had learned through hard lessons not to trust anyone. Blind trust given freely to a former first mate had left Jack on the receiving end of a mutiny and had almost cost him his life. Jack would only place his faith in someone else if the circumstances were dire, and he never admitted weakness.

As a result of two years spent at sea with the cagey pirate, Prescott had learned how to find out what the trouble was and offer his help without Jack having to ask for it. He could tell that Jack was incredibly uncomfortable in the confined space, but the damned stubborn pirate was not about to tell him why. So, as usual, the injured officer was left with the daunting task of deciphering the problem without alerting suspicion. Why couldn't anything just be easy?

Scrutinizing the pirate, Prescott was sidetracked by the discovery that he could almost see Jack out of both eyes. His vision was blurred somewhat, but the eye he had worried would be closed forever was operational. Hearing no reply to his words, Sparrow stopped pacing, at last. "I think, I'm getting better," Prescott said, gesturing to his eye.

Jack cocked his head to on side. "If ye say so, mate," he replied. "But ye still look terrible from 'ere." The Cheshire grin spread across Sparrow's face, as he leaned closer to Prescott. He seemed to be inspecting the officer's barely functioning eye.

"Why not if you can help it?" Prescott got the conversation back on track.

"Aye?" Jack straightened. He looked as though he had no idea to what Prescott was referring, but the older man was not letting the pirate off so easily.

"Why stay away from your cabin at all costs?"

The pirate frowned. He resumed pacing. Prescott rolled his eyes, both of them. Apparently, Jack had no intention of giving in without a fight. "Damn," Prescott swore under his breath as he hauled his protesting body into a sitting position. Calling on even more willpower, Prescott pulled himself to his feet. Once again the room seemed to spiral out of control. This time, the ailing officer steadied himself with a hand against the wall and tried to ignore the frantic motion. He stepped in front of Jack who, having been completely absorbed in his own thoughts, nearly plowed into his crewmate. As it were, he stopped just short and brought widened eyes up to rest on Prescott's face. "Alright, Sparrow," Prescott started, using his best listen-to-me-or-else tone. "I'm up, and I have to admit that I'm not feeling so hot about it. So, how 'bout you do me a favor and just tell me what's bothering you so I can pass out in peace." Direct confrontations and an ultimatums, two more things the pirate Captain hated.

The muscles in Jack's jaw twitched as he stared back at Prescott. He appeared completely unwilling to confide in the older man. Prescott was nearly unable to hold Sparrow's stare for the constant hammering in his head. Taking his hand from the wall, he ran it over his face in a show of exasperation Last night's trek through town had reopened dozens of partially healed cuts, and he could have sworn that his "bruised" rib had cracked itself right off. He had just about succumbed to the pain and given up on hearing any response from Jack when the pirate finally answered him. "Have ye ever been in prison, Scotty?" he said, lowering his eyes.

"You should know by now that I have never done anything reproachable enough to be faced with incarceration," Prescott replied. It had been his experience that lightening the mood made talking easier for Jack.

The younger man laughed quietly. "Tha's why I went to sea," he said. "Freedom." Tentatively, he met Prescott's eyes. "Cause livin' without tha' …" he trailed off, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Prescott nodded empathetically. Over the past week, he'd come to implicitly understand how much he craved freedom. Hell, he'd lopped off his own arm to escape Boothe's ship. The first time Prescott had ever laid eyes on Jack Sparrow, he had been imprisoned by a Spanish tyrant in a hell hole known as _la Cerradura_. He'd been there for over a year. The scars from that place were still clearly visible on the pirate's skin, and, in rare moments, those scars were visible in his eyes. Who knew what other prisons Sparrow had seen. His past was one of the great mysteries of the world. Where he'd been and what he'd seen were not regular topics of conversation. "It won't be long, Jack," Prescott said, his voice low but the sound still seemed to startle the pirate. "When we get _Loyalty_ back, I'll let you sleep on deck every night," he declared, smiling.

"With you in the Captain's cabin, I imagine?"

"Naturally," Prescott's face turned serious again. "Put _la Cerradura_ out of your mind."

"What?" Jack's black eyes locked onto Prescott's, confusion plainly written on his features.

"Isn't that what you were talking about? Being in prison?" Prescott prodded.

"Oh, aye. Of course."

Liar. Prescott raised an eyebrow. Normally, Jack was much better at deception. What on earth had he been thinking about? What could possibly be worse than what he'd been forced to live through at the hands of that sadistic Spaniard? The pirate immediately dropped his eyes to the floor and started to turn away. Reaching out, Prescott grabbed Jack's arm. "If not _la Cerradura_, then what?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Better that you don't know."

Sparrow's voice was so quiet that Prescott had to strain to hear him. Unfortunately, Prescott had been so concentrated on listening to Jack that he was completely unprepared for the pirate to shrug off his grasp. He hadn't been using Jack's arm for support, but rather for balance, which he abruptly lost. His legs gave way beneath him. Jack must have seen him waver out of the corner of his eye, but he was too slow to prevent Prescott from falling to his knees. Pain surged up his already aching thighs, exploding in his back. His vision swam and darkened at the edges.

"Scotty," Sparrow was at his side, his arm wrapped around Prescott's shoulders. "You alright?"

Prescott shook his head slightly to clear it. Swallowing the agonizing wave that had tried to choke him, he met Jack's concerned eyes. "See how m-much easier m-my life would be if ye'd jus' answer a s-simple question?" Saying nothing, Jack practically lifted Prescott to his feet, helping him collapse onto the hammock. Bringing his hand to his throbbing head, Prescott wondered if that bloody doctor hadn't been right in saying it was too early for him to be up and about. Tentatively, he opened his eyes. Jack, hands clasped behind his back, was walking to the other side of the room. "No more pacing, please," Prescott gently scolded.

Sparrow's eyes darted to Prescott's face. His concern seemed to recede somewhat, though he still looked incredibly tense. Taking a seat next to the hammock, the pirate smiled a sad smile. "I went t' sea when I was twelve," he said, quietly lowering his head. Prescott saw himself at that same age, standing as a nervous midshipman before his first Captain. "I went t' escape a prison worse than _la Cerradura_."

The older man nodded his understanding. He had known from the time he first heard Fort Arthur's guns salute the Admiral's flagship that he would some day Captain one of the Navy's fighting vessels. Just before his twelfth birthday, Prescott's father had treated an injured Captain and managed to save the man's leg from amputation. Indebted to the physician, the Captain took Prescott on as one of his officers. He'd loved every moment he spent on the crystal waters of the West Indies, and he'd been fearless. When an enemy ship was spotted, Prescott was the first officer to race up to the fighting top to get a better view. He never failed to volunteer to lead a boarding party. He'd found his home aboard that first ship. The wind blowing through the rigging had become more beautiful than any symphony. The sea spray on his face had become more loving than any woman's caress. He'd never thought of his father's house as a prison, but every moment he spent on land since then had been a moment he spent dreaming of the sea.

"I've never gone back," Sparrow went on. "Since then, I've been on a ship. Sailing as far from there as I can," he paused, smiling ruefully. "Trying to reach the horizon."

"You know," Prescott said. "I once told Annie that the place where the sky meets the sea is heaven."

Jack's eyes rose to meet his shipmate's. "I think ye may 'ave been right."

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"I'm sorry, my dear," the elderly doctor's voice was kind, sympathetic. "He's just gone to sleep, and I don't think he should be disturb. He really should be resting."

Anamaria crossed her arms as one black eyebrow arched suspiciously. He needed his rest, did he? She knew damn well that Prescott was not even in that room, and, she imagined, the Doctor Brendwhite knew it too. She was not overly surprised that the doctor would cover for Prescott. The way he'd spoke of her brother, fighting until the last ounce of strength left his body. The older man obviously had great respect for his patient. Still, she was somewhat amazed at the way Prescott could twist just about anything or anyone so that things played out according to his wishes. He must make a wonderful pirate. No wonder he and Jack got along so well. "Doctor," she started. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to call your bluff. Prescott isn't in there. Is he?"

The physician's chin rose. "I'm sorry?" he said, carrying on his charade rather well.

"I saw Pres stagger through town last night belting out some sea shanty at the top of his lungs." Ana smiled at the memory. She hadn't been certain at the time if her brother had been drunk or just pretending. Either way, he had been an amusing sight. "Something tells me he wasn't just out for a stroll around town," she paused. The doctor still wore a mask of confusion, as though he had no idea what Ana was implying. "He's gone. Don't lie to me, Doctor."

The elderly man ran his tongue over his thin lips. "If you saw him in the streets, the you clearly know more about his whereabouts than I," the physician dodged the question skillfully.

"_Interceptor_ does not embark for another two days," Ana went on. "Someone is bound to come looking for him between now and then."

The doctor's brows came together. "_Interceptor_?" he said. "Is that where he went?"

"Of course, it is," Ana said. "I'm not sure how, but I'm sure he conned Captain Norrington into letting him come along to find _Loyalty_. He's rather persuasive when he wants to be."

"Yes, I'm aware," the white haired man answered absently. His thoughts seeming to be somewhere else entirely.

"Ah, Doctor, just the man I was looking for," Admiral Delaney said from down the hall. Just the man Ana had been hoping to avoid. As he approached, Shane's face colored ever so slightly. "Good morrow, Miss Tarret," he said quietly, lowering his eyes.

"Admiral," Ana answered shortly.

"What can I do for you?" the doctor asked. "You're not ill, I hope?"

Delaney smiled broadly, revealing a set of normally hidden dimples. He really was quite attractive for a man of his age. Ana almost felt sorry for running him over the coals last night, but she'd given him the chance to redeem himself. He'd chosen to hide behind his banner and insist that he had to hang Prescott. That, had been the wrong answer. "No, I'm fine," Shane brushed off the elderly man's concern. "I was actually hoping to see Miss Tarret's brother."

"Why?" Ana demanded, instantly defensive.

Shane exhaled. He was visibly uncomfortable. Maybe he'd been hoping to avoid her, as well. "He's a pirate," Delaney started. "So is Boothe. I thought he might know some places to begin our search … some places the Navy might not think to look."

"And you should ask him," Ana remarked irreverently. "Why not get him for all the information he's got before you stretch his neck. After all, dead men tell no tales," she said, her voice quavering slightly in a perfect imitation of the scary voices parents used to tell their children about vile pirates.

The Admiral took the force of Ana's words stoically. He'd been expecting some reaction like she'd given. He said nothing. Apparently, he had come to accept the futility of arguing with an angry Tarret. Besides, nothing he could have said would have been right. Not to Ana.

"I'm sorry, Admiral Delaney," the doctor wisely interrupted. "I've just given Captain Tarret something to help him sleep. I'm afraid you'll have to wait to speak with him." Ana noted with pleasure that the doctor still called her brother Captain. She also noted that this seemed to irritate Delaney.

Shane nodded shortly. "Very well," he said. "I'll try again this evening."

"Doctor, you know that you've just lied to an Admiral?" Ana said, watching Delaney stalk down the hall.

The elderly man smiled. "My dear, I do not think it is the conversation with _me_ that he will remember."

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Once again lying on his back on the hammock, Prescott heard the door to the outer cabin bang open. Jack, who had been resting uneasily, leapt to his feet at the prospect of some action. "Well, tell the dock master to come out here," he heard Norrington's voice demand, full of frustration. Getting a ship outfitted for a voyage was one of the most maddening tasks a Navy Captain ever faced. Dock masters tended to find the Navy's use of supplies "cavalier." Prescott had often found himself wondering exactly what price was acceptable to spend on the ships who defended the English settlements.

"Sir?" a confused subordinate spoke up. It was highly out of the ordinary for a Captain to demand a meeting with the dock master. Though Prescott could remember once threatening to level the dock master's yard with one of _Loyalty'_s broadsides. The memory brought a sly smile to the former officer's face. He might have done it, too.

"He'll answer to me or he'll answer to the Admiral. It's his choice," James was saying.

"Aye, Sir," the other man responded, dually impressed by his Captain.

The outer door closed. Prescott shot Jack a glance as James' footsteps neared the sleeping cabin. Jack winked and grinned. To the pirate's apparent delight, the monotony was about to be broken. The door flew open, and Norrington stepped inside, more than a little surprised to see Prescott in his hammock. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Already," he added quickly, once he realized the obvious answer to his first question.

"Waiting for you," Prescott replied, smiling.

"We don't leave for three days," James stated. "Don't you think someone might miss you at the hospital?"

Prescott sat up, pleased that the movement was a bit less excruciating than the last time he'd attempted it. "So, let them think I've escaped. I assure you, James, the last place they'll look for me is in your very own cabin."

Norrington opened his mouth to reply, but it was then that he spied Jack, leaning against the wall. James closed his mouth without saying anything. "Prescott," he said, forcibly keeping his voice even. "May I have a word with you … alone."

Jack quirked an eyebrow, his smile broadening. He bowed gallantly in front of the Naval Captain. "If ye'll excuse me, then. I'll jus' be on deck," he said.

"No!" Norrington practically leapt in front of the door. Prescott bit down on his tongue to keep from laughing and the expression of innocence on Jack's face. James sighed, looking slightly embarrassed by his outburst. "I would rather my crew not know there are any guests on board. We have one problem, and the men'll call the both of you Jonahs and look to have you thrown overboard."

"I've been called worse," Sparrow said, smiling.

Prescott's brow furrowed. "That the only reason you don't want 'im to show his face?"

Now, James embarrassment seemed to increase. "If you don't mind my saying so," he started, his voice lowered. "I said _you_ could accompany me. I didn't realize you'd be bringing the whole family with you."

"What?"

"I'm sure your cousin is very capable …"

"My cousin," Prescott repeated the label, shooting a meaningful glare at Jack. Could it be possible that James really did not recognize the wily pirate? Prescott took stock of Jack. Minus the kohl-lined eyes, braided beard, and beaded hair, he really did seem far removed from the infamous Captain Sparrow. A thin smile colored the former officer's face. Sparrow really did have the luck of the devil. "Yes, well – "

"I'm afraid I'm to blame for this," Jack picked right up. "I saw my cousin here making his grand escape last night, and I refused to let him go alone." Sparrow's posture immediately improved and a slightly aristocratic inflection fell in place over his usual pirate accent. "I do hate to put you out, Captain Norrington, but I submit that Prescott needs someone along to … look after him."

Norrington seemed to consider Sparrow's statement. Prescott only glared at the pirate. Look after him? The gall of that man to insinuate that he need looking after.

"You may have a point, Mr. – I'm afraid I don't know your name."

Prescott swallowed his irritation. "Pardon me for asking, James," he started. "But, if you don't know his name, then how did you know he was my cousin?"

"Annie told me that your cousin from Spain had been staying in her house," he paused looking back to Jack. "If you'll forgive me for my presumption, Sir. You do look … um …"

"Spanish?" Sparrow finished. James nodded, once again looking quite embarrassed by the blunt conversation.

"My sister told you all about his dashing rescue but didn't mention his name?" Prescott questioned.

"No," James said. "Come to think of it, she didn't."

Prescott and Jack exchanged glances. "Jackson," Sparrow said, finally.

"Ah, then it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jackson." James shook the pirates hand. Prescott smirked at the irony of the Navy Captain clasping hands with a man whom he already knew very well. "And, if you'll consign yourself to my cabin as Prescott has agreed to do, I will allow you to remain on board. Just as long as there's no more surprises in store."

This last comment was directed to Prescott, who smiled inoffensively. "What do you expect me to do, James? Bring Annie along?" James laughed and left his sleeping cabin shaking his head. The pair of pirates listened as James' left his cabin. "Well, well, Sparrow," Prescott began as soon as the outer door slammed shut. "If you ever give in to the fact that _Loyalty_ is rightfully mine and hang up your black flag, you may consider a turn on the stage … Mr. Jackson?"

Jack shook his head. "Disreputable places, theatres."

Prescott scoffed. "Yes, well, you would be the authority on places of ill repute," Sparrow smiled a smile that could have charmed a nun out of her habit. He winked and bowed as though Prescott had just paid him the highest compliment. The former officer rolled his eyes. "So, you're back to being Jackson again, eh? I'm curious, is that your real name?"

"A gentleman never tells," Jack retorted, perfectly imitating the way James Norrington spoke.

"At least give me a hint," Prescott said, lying back on the hammock and resting his hand beneath his head, a gesture which would have looked more normal had he two arms instead of one. The pirate shook his head. "Well, let's see. Sparrow cannot be your given name. You already told me it was your mother's maiden name – " Prescott halted mid sentence as something flashed in Jack's eyes at the mention of his mother.

The pirate's face darkened. "Sparrow was my mother's only name," he said, his voice low and angry. A lifetime of hurt seemed to lurk just below the surface of those few words. Prescott was careful to keep all expression from his own visage. Jack said that "Sparrow" was his mother's last name. Her only last name, which could only mean that his mother had never been married to his father. "She was a maid in my father's house," Jack explained through a tightly clenched jaw. The pirate turned away from Prescott.

No wonder he considered the house of his birth a prison. An unhappy home indeed when a wife finds her husband's child belongs to the maid. Prescott could only imagine the nightmare of Jack's childhood. He finally began to understand why the pirate was so secretive when it came to discussing his past. Even scallywags would look down on a child born out of wedlock. Prescott sighed at the extent of society's hypocrisy.

Once again, he forced his battered legs to support the rest of his miserable body. He had always prided himself on being a man who formed opinions based on the actions of others, rather than hearsay or appearance. Perhaps he was not this way by choice, after all, a man whose sister was born with such dark skin could not afford to be judgmental. Clearly, Jack was worried that Prescott would join the ranks of proper society and condemn his shipmate for the sins of his parents. Crossing the small room, Prescott placed his arm around Jack's shoulders. He was pleased that the guarded pirate was finally willing to trust him enough to let leak potentially damning details of his past, but he was unwilling to force his shipmate to answer questions that were simply too hard to answer. "So, it's true, then. What all the girls in Tortuga say …"

Jack's eyebrow rose questioningly. "What's true?"

Prescott smiled broadly. "You are a bastard."

At first, Jack's face was overtaken by a mask of shock, but slowly his grin grew to match Prescott's. "Tha's it," he said. "I was bein' nice t' ye on account of wha' you've been through. But now I'm done."

"Oh, are ye now?" Prescott mimicked Jack's accent.

"Aye," the pirate smirked. "From now on, I'm callin' ye Lefty."

TBC

As always, thank you so very much for reading and reviewing my story. Your feedback keeps me going. And, as for responding to each of you last time, I think I'm going to do it again. It's the least I can do to show you my appreciation!

SlyviaD: Never apologize for a late review. I'll gladly wait a bit to hear some feedback. I'm so happy that I seem to be writing Prescott and Jack's friendship well. It is kind of a tricky relationship and I hope that I can portray the deep love and respect they have for eachother without making it seem fake or slashy. (nothing wrong with slash, just not the direction I want to go). So, thanks for your encouraging words!

Cal: Welcome back from your vacation! Sorry to leave you not one but two updates to review, I hope it wasn't too terrible a burden :-) Be sure tokeep your tissues well stocked, cause while I hate to beat up Pres, he isn't going to get better overnite. But, yes, even in his injured state, he's forming a plan. He's got a ship to get back, a sister to protect and a villian to punish. So, once again poor Norry is pulled into the mix. You're so right, it's much better to have Scotty as a friend than an enemy! I'm glad to hear you liked the exchange between Ana and Shane. I so enjoyed watching her slap the hell outta Jack in the movie, and I figured that reactions like that had to start somewhere and Shane deserved a bit of her wrath don't you think? And I'm glad you appreciate Jack and Pres's grand performance. I get the feeling that Jack's drunken bravado is an act most of the time anyway, so why not make use of it here. Sadly, ol' Scotty seems to have a bit of a weakness for the bottle that he hasn't quite mastered yet. As ever, thank you for the incredibly long review. I always look forward to your thoughts!

Rose of England: I'm glad I could make you laugh with a bit of drunken singing. As for Norry, well he wasn't completely duped last chapter. He could see what Prescott was doing, being a bit manipulative, but what he couldn't see was a way get out of Prescott's scheme. I think one of Prescott's greatest assets/faults is his mouth (don't let your mind wander to the gutter!) He can talk his way in or out of anything and he can make anyone see things his way. Rather useful for a pirate, I think.

Yuna-Flowering: So happy that I've made a Norry fan out of you! Welcome to the club. A few reviews mentioned the fact that Norry and Delaney didn't recognize our boys singing in the streets. I think this is mainly because they weren't watching for them. Delaney had practically given Pres up for dead, and Norry could hardly be faulted for thinking Pres would wait until it was time to embark before stealing out of the hospital. Only Ana suspected something was up, and that's why she was the one who spotted them. Crafty girl! Anyway, thanks for the feedback!

Freak87: I absolutely think that Norry has more feelings for Ana than he's admitting. Ah, the tangled web the lady pirate weaves :-) As for the guy in the boat taking Pres and Jack to the Interceptor, well, by no means have I done exhaustive research, but I have done a bit. In many harbors, rowboats were owned/operated by civilians. Only the Captain/Admiral of a ship would have his own gig from that ship. So, in this instance Jack and Pres simply paid the man and no questions were asked. Hope that explains what happened a bit better.

Alicia: Prescott's fate isn't certain in my mind yet. Let's just say, I love him and would have a hell of a time killing him. As for what he's doing during the movie, I'm not sure. Maybe I'll write that story someday. Shane is another one that I haven't quite decided about yet. Tunnel vision is well put, I think. He seems to be a very career oriented man, and the possibility of bending the rules for someone you care about maybe hasn't been an issue before now. And, I do think Norry gets a bad rap in a lot of stories. I think he's an honorable man who would take responsibility for his actions as well as his mistakes.

Thanks again to all of you! Now, stop reading and leave me another review :-)


	14. Embarkation

Disclaimer: I own nothing from PotC.

Chapter Fourteen: "Embarkation"

"He's gone." Admiral Shane Delaney barged into Norrington's cabin without waiting to be announced. He was irritated. No, not irritated. He was angry. Out of respect for a woman who's opinion was important to him, he had not insisted that an armed guard stay inside of her brother's room at all times. He had contented himself with posting men at all of the hospital's entrances. After all, Prescott Tarret had been on death's door. No way could he make an escape from the second story room he'd occupied. Shane knew Prescott's reputation. Everyone in the Caribbean knew of the incredible feats of daring accomplished by Captain Tarret. Sure, maybe he'd forsaken everything and turned pirate, he had still been a great asset to the Crown. Why condemn a man for high treason when he'd once battled the very same pirates he'd run off to join?He should have known that Prescott would rise to the occasion, and that someone would be content to look the other way while he escaped custody.

Delaney shook his head. How could he have been so blind? Prescott Tarret was a pirate who knew he was destined for the noose. A desperate man facing death was a dangerous man. A man who could beat any odds. Of course, he'd been able to orchestrate an escape.

Captain Norrington looked up, wide eyed, from the charts he'd been reviewing. "Who's gone?" he asked. "Sir," he added belatedly.

"Tarret," Delaney declared, as though that should have been completely obvious. It should have been, who else would he be so concerned with.

James blanched. "Escaped?"

"Well, I do not imagine he waltzed out with a royal escort," Shane was being terribly scathing, he knew that. But, he was upset. His own willingness to keep in a woman's good graces had lost England a valuable prisoner, and he hadn't even managed to stay in the woman's good graces. His actions had been doubly damning, and now Norrington was bothering him with asinine questions.

"Of course. Sorry, Sir." James let the edges of the chart roll up on themselves. He stepped to the other side of his desk. "Do we have any ideas concerning his whereabouts."

"He'd be a fool to stay in Kingston," Delaney answered, happy to finally be on track. "Just the same, we've checked his former residence, and that of his sister. We also questioned his physician. We found nothing, and the doctor hadn't a clue what we were talking about. He kept going on about the impossibility of the patient's escape."

The Captain's eyebrows rose for a second, then dropped. "I think it's safe to say, nothing is impossible where Prescott is concerned."

"So I'm beginning to see."

"What's to be our course of action?"

"We have to assume that Tarret has gone after Boothe, to get his ship back, and to have his revenge. Four merchant vessels left port this morning and one last night. He could have stowed away or taken control of any one of them. Or, he could have had some ship tucked away in a hidden cove, he did grow up here after all. He must know the terrain like the back of his hand." Delaney paused, recalling a story in the Gazette in which a Spanish tyrant was apprehended near a cave to which Prescott Tarret had led the marines. He alone had known the location of that cave. It was no stretch of the imagination that Tarret could know of a safe landing spot, large enough to conceal a small fishing vessel.

"Do we try to stop him?" Norrington was asking.

"Not we, Captain. You," Shane answered. "The squad could not possibly be ready to embark in time. _Intercepter_ is reckoned the fastest ship in the West Indies. If anyone has a chance to catch Tarret, it would be you." James nodded shortly. "You are to sail immediately, head for the location Boothe's crewman told you about," Delaney ordered, stepping closer to Norrington. "There's a rumor trickling down from Admiralty concerning the necessity of a second commander in the Caribbean, a commodore to be posted in Port Royal." He paused letting the significance of this information sink in. He knew that James Norrington was an ambitious officer, who yearned for a prestigious Naval career. A commodore was not a commissioned office. The title merely meant that Norrington would have several ships under his control. Still, a commodore was a very small step away from an Admiral. Once Delaney retired, or in the event of his death, a commodore from the same region would be the obvious choice as his successor. Shane was practically handing James the West Indies on a silver platter, and, from the expression on his face, James knew it.

Delaney smiled slightly. "Find Tarret, and the position's as good as yours."

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Jack backed away from where he and Prescott had stood with their ears pressed against the sleeping cabin's door. He stared meaningfully at the older man. His thoughts were written plainly on his face. Would James betray them in exchange for a promotion? Prescott held his face perfectly expressionless in an effort to conceal the fact that he was wondering that exact thing. He had to admit that he was momentarily impressed with Admiral Delaney. Had Prescott been in Shane's position, he would have made James very same offer. Norrington longed for promotion, prestige, and respect above everything else. The Admiral's officer was the pot filled with gold at the end of the rainbow. Delaney was dangling everything James had ever wanted right in front of his nose, and all James had to do was betray a former friend who was now an enemy of the Crown. Prescott was more than a little nervous.

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The deck of the _Interceptor _exploded in activity as her Captain strode up to the quarterdeck. "Bosun's mates," James bellowed. "Side boys, lively now," he ordered. Every crewman within earshot stood at attention, as Admiral Delaney appeared on deck after Norrington. The bosuns' whistles sounded shrilly, and all hats came off as the Admiral disappeared over the side into his boat, with all the pomp and circumstance afforded a man of his station. James watched the Admiral's barge pull away from the side. Compared to his own small gig, the barge was a colossal improvement. James raised his hand to his hat, saluting his superior officer. Delaney had done everything but name him Admiral right then and there. All he had to do was capture a fugitive who happened to be below decks in his own sleeping cabin. All he had to do was betray one of the few friends he had in the Caribbean, granted that man was a pirate, but he had been a friend nonetheless.

The bosuns' whistles fell silent. Delaney returned the Captain's salute. James kept his eyes fixed on the Admiral. Could he do it? Could he hand his friend over to be slaughtered, humiliated in the town square? Could he stand by, wearing the pennant of a commodore, and watch Prescott hang? Could he sleep at night knowing that he'd been responsible for killing the only family Annie had left?

James shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Lieutenant Billings," he said. "Take us out."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Billings responded. "Man the capstan," he shouted. "Hand aloft to loose the top'sils."

Norrington watched the commotion of embarkation on deck with blind eyes. It made no difference if he could, or could not, turn in Prescott. He did not have to make the decision now. He could not possibly admit to allowing a wanted criminal to hide in his very own cabin. He would have to make a good show of pursuing the pirate across the open sea. He would go to the island Mr. Gates had told him about. He would make his decision then, there, and not before.

Apparently satisfied that his lieutenants could handle the embarkation of _Interceptor_. Captain Norrington turned and headed to his quarters. He had been watching his crew hurrying this way and that, going about the business of making a ship ready to sail. To a land lubber, the scene was pure, unadulterated chaos. To a Captain such as Norrington, every man was attending to his duty and the fevered activity make perfect sense. That in mind, had his eyes truly been watching his crew, he would have noticed an extra soul climb over the side towards the bow of the ship. He would have noticed the unusually large hat that concealed the unwanted visitor's face, and the few strands of long black hair that had managed to dislodge themselves. He would have seen that this uninvited guest did nothing to help prepare the ship, but merely headed straight for the stairs that lead below decks.

As it were, James Norrington had been completely engrossed in other thoughts, and he had seen nothing.

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"He's taking us to sea," Sparrow remarked, unnecessarily. Both men had been on ships their whole lives. Neither needed to be told what was meant by the changing motion of the vessel or the loud thumping of many footsteps on deck.

"He has to," Prescott said. Normally, he would have been seated, elbows on his knees with his chin rested on his folded hands. However, such a posture required two arms, so he had to content himself to prop one elbow up on his knee and set his chin on his clenched fist. "If he turned us in straight away, he'd be held accountable for aiding a wanted criminal. I doubt Delaney would still be so eager to promote him."

Jack, who had been standing with his back to the wall, slid down to the floor. He crossed his long legs at the ankles. "So, he'll sail us t' some distant island, clap us in irons, and return the hero?"

Prescott glared at Jack. "Not us. Me. He still thinks you're my well-meaning, albeit, misguided cousin." He was going to say more, but he immediately ceased his speech at the sound of the cabin door opening. Both men waited in silence, had it been Norrington who'd entered he would have come to alert them of his presence. He also would have known that they'd heard Delaney's offer. He would have had to explain his actions. No one came, so Sparrow and Prescott remained quiet.

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Walking slowly, much slower than usual, down the corridor that lead to his quarters, Norrington began to wonder why he'd left the quarterdeck at all. Up there he was master and commander of his ship, of the world as far as his crew was concerned. On the quarterdeck he had the authority to take his men and his officers to glory or to their death. Normally, that authority extended to his cabin. However, normally Prescott Tarret was not waiting there, waiting no doubt to hear what James planned to do with Delaney's offer.

James halted outside the cabin as the sentry opened the door for him. Stepping inside, Norrington had almost worked himself up to facing his former comrade, but he stopped short. An elderly doctor, dressed in a Naval uniform that had gone out of fashion years ago, rose from one of the chairs to meet the Captain. The man nodded a greeting.

"Doctor Brendwhite," James breathed. "What on earth are you doing here?"

The white haired man smiled mischievously. "Martin Brendwhite, surgeon," he said. "Come aboard, Sir."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Norrington mumbled under his breath. Did the entire town plan to take part in this voyage? "_Interceptor_ already has a surgeon," he said aloud, calculating just how much time it would take to put this man in to shore. They would have to turn around, drop anchor, wait for the shoreboat to arrive … could nothing go as planned?

"Ah, yes," the doctor answered. "Poor man, found at a pub, completely unconscious."

"What?" James demanded. It was no secret that most surgeons in the Navy were incompetent, gin-soaked fools, but most were not stupid enough to be found on land when their ship was preparing to go to sea.

"I suspect some sort of sedative was put in his drink," the man explained, a funny sort of a smile on his lips.

The Captain scowled. "Indeed," he said. "And you intend to act in his stead?"

The elderly man nodded. "I would have sent someone else, but I understand you to have a man aboard who may prove to be an … uncooperative patient."

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Once again leaning his ear to the door, Prescott Tarret rolled his eyes. "Wonderful," he mouthed silently. Perhaps it had been too soon for a midnight romp through town, posing as an inebriated songbird, but why did everyone deem it necessary to "look after him."

Sparrow had clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

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Norrington's heart leapt to his throat. How in the world did this man know Prescott was on board? The doctor stood, smiling innocently. The Navy Captain's trepidation turned to suspicion. His eyes narrowed. This man did not simply know that Prescott had escaped, he knew where the injured man had gone. James shook his head. Of course, Prescott would be able to trick a respected man of medicine into helping him slip out of custody. No wonder he turned pirate, the man was born for it. Norrington almost laughed.

"What makes you think you can function on a ship of war?" he asked the doctor.

"My last commission was on the flagship."

"On _Dauntless_," James clarified. "How long ago was this?"

"Twenty-one years ago."

A single eyebrow arched. Now things were starting to make sense. Twenty-one years ago would have been about the same time that a certain young lieutenant took a bullet to save an Admiral's life. This doctor knew Prescott long before he was brought into the hospital two days prior. "You must know that I have to take you back," he said, almost sadly.

Something in the doctor's innocent façade changed, subtly. "And you must know, Captain, that, knowing what I know, you cannot take me back."

James scowled. "Is that a threat?"

The white haired man clasped his hands behind his back, the innocent expression once again affixed to his face. "It is a mere statement of fact, Sir," he paused. "A physician cannot, in good conscience, allow an injured man to cause himself harm," he added, softening the words that had been a threat, no matter how he denied them.

"Very well," James said, "I trust you can find your way to the sick berth?"

The elderly man nodded, "Of course, Sir."

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Prescott rolled his eyes again, and flopped down on the hammock as soon as he was certain the doctor had left Norrington's quarters. "For the love of all things holy," he sighed. "This is the last time I go singing through the streets with you Sparrow."

"Oh, I doubt that," Jack said, flashing a gilded grin.

"Honestly," Prescott went on, ignoring the pirate's comment. "There isn't going to be anyone left in Kingston by the time we're through."

"Too bad there isn't a window in this closet," Sparrow said. "We'd probably find your sister swimmin' after us."

The older pirate slung his arm over his eyes. "Well, if the whole towns on this ship, at least she won't be able to get in any trouble for a while."

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Captain Norrington stood in his cabin, by a row of windows, and watched Kingston harbor disappear into the distance. Spending the better half of his life in the Navy, James usually felt more at home at sea than on land, but never had he been so happy to see civilization growing smaller and smaller as he sailed away. He wasn't sure who could have wandered aboard next.

He had yet to talk with Prescott and his cousin about Delaney's offer. Something needed to be said. Technically, Prescott should be in that sleeping cabin thanking his lucky stars that James hadn't turned him in on the spot. In actuality, James knew that Prescott still thought of himself as James' superior officer, and probably felt that James owed him some sort of explanation. Norrington had been an extremely talented sailor ever since he entered the King's service, but he never would have become Post Captain so quickly if not for a few words on his behalf from a certain brother in arms who had Admiral Fornin's ear. In addition, begrudgingly, Norrington still looked to Prescott as a mentor, pirate or not. Most men in his place would have left Prescott to rot in Kingston, whether or not they had once been friends. No one would fault James for storming into his sleeping cabin, shackling Prescott's wrists … a pain shot through the Captain's chest, just as real as if he'd been shot. He couldn't place Prescott in irons. Prescott only had one wrist, one arm.

James' eyes traveled to his own hands, which he was holding out in front of his body. He shuddered and found himself wondering if he had been in Prescott's shoes would he have been able to show that kind of determination. Sure, Prescott had been attempting to save himself from Boothe's brutality, but his true reason for pulling his battered body to the deck of that ship had been to warn someone that Annie was in trouble. He wondered if he would have had the courage to face a mutilated future in an effort to save someone he cared about. James closed his eyes, he could still feel his friends blood spilling out over his hands.

The symbolism of that memory was hard to ignore. All those years ago, if Norrington would have stopped Prescott from throwing Black Charlie in prison, then the pirate would never have resurfaced to seek his revenge. None of this would have happened. It was a stretch. He knew he was in no way solely responsible for Boothe's return, neither he nor Prescott could have foreseen the pirate's escape from _Vanth. _He was not the only person to blame, but nor was he without blame. He still didn't know if he could turn Prescott over to be executed, but either way, he had to find Black Charlie and make that blackguard pay for what he'd done to Prescott and to Annie.

At that very moment, when James had finally resolved some small part of his turmoil, a loud knock sounded on the door.

"Come," James said, moving to sit behind his desk. The second lieutenant, Gillette, tentatively stepped inside. "What is it?"

"Stowaway, Sir," the younger man replied, staring straight ahead at some spot on the wall behind Norrington.

"Bring him here," James sighed. Typical that he would have to deal with some runaway on this of all voyages. Gillette hesitated, looking as though he wanted to say something, but, decided against it. Vanishing into the corridor for a moment, he returned with the culprit.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," James said. Gillette nodded and left his Captain alone with the intruder. The stowaway was a slightly built man, with dark skin, probably a runaway slave. His clothes, a plain white shirt and brown leather pants, were too big and an oversized hat covered much of his face. His feet were stuffed into brown boots that appeared slightly effeminate, and a few wisps of black hair hung around his neck. "Remove your hat," Norrington instructed.

The man made no move to follow orders. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Did you not hear me, man?" Norrington asked.

Slowly, the man reached up and tugged his hat from his head.

James leapt to his feet, the desk chair slamming to the deck behind him. His mouth fell nearly as far, and his eyes could have pulled free from his skull. The stowaway was no escaped slave, and certainly was no man. James stared into the familiar amber eyes of Anamaria Tarret.

TBC

Thank you thank you thank you reviewers! I don't have time to respond individually this time, but as always I'm so happy to read your feedback, and I can't wait for more!


	15. Familiar

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from PotC.

**Chapter 15 "Familiar"**

Jack Sparrow was instantly on his feet at the sound of a loud crash coming from Norrington's cabin. Prescott sat up in the hammock, entirely too quickly. A lieutenant had just entered, saying something about a stowaway. Prescott sighed, placing his throbbing head in his hand. "Please tell me it isn't …"

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"Dear God, Annie?" Norrington was apparently too shocked to censor his speech in the woman's presence.

Anamaria chewed on her bottom lip. She really had not yet figured out what she was going to say upon being discovered. She had rather hoped that it would be her brother, or Jack, that would find her, not James Norrington. Prescott would have been annoyed. He was always annoyed when she showed up in places that, in her brother's opinion, she was not supposed to be. Jack probably would have smiled and said something about her not being able to get enough of him. Both men would have let her remain aboard. James, however, was a different story entirely. Taking her back to shore would take precious time, but she would have a much harder time selling him on the idea of letting her remain aboard.

Before James was able to recover himself enough to say anything else, the door to his sleeping cabin flew open revealing her very annoyed older brother. Ana raised her eyebrows and smiled uncertainly. Just behind Prescott stood Jack Sparrow. He was no longer wearing a borrowed Navy uniform, but he still looked far removed from the indomitable Captain Jack. He very well could have been the estranged Spanish cousin that Ana had invented for Norrington's benefit. He looked about as proper as a pirate could ever look, and he seemed appropriately concerned about her and Prescott. Her brother looked anything but appropriate, he looked exactly like a pirate, black breeches giving way to fine leather boots. His bruised torso was hidden beneath a white linen shirt and a black leather vest. The tattoo that she had only recently discovered peeked out from the space where his shirt fell open.One arm of that shirt hung limp and empty at the man's side, his other arm was encircled by the hand of a pirate. He seemed tired, seeking support from Jack. And she, as usual, was just one more complication to burden his mind.

"Why am I not surprised?" her brother sighed, pursing his lips. He rolled his eyes. The pirate, at his side, smiled devilishly, reminding Ana of the smile she'd elicited when she had shed her clothes while he bathed.

Ana's eyebrows lifted, she knew her cheeks were coloring slightly. How easy it was to recall to her mind the feeling of the pirate's body covering her own. The way he had touched her … Stop. She smiled uncertainly. "You know me better than most, Pres," she said, nervously banishing the improper memories.

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Prescott face became instantly suspicious. His brow furrowed as his eyes danced back and forth between Jack and his sister. Ana was anxious and flustered. His sister was never flustered. She could lie nearly as well as he. She was cool as ice in sticky situations. She possessed an uncommon ability to manipulate situations and people. What was wrong now, that she was completely robbed of her senses?

Turning to the man who was currently helping him stand, Prescott was hit hard by a flash of glaring clarity. Annie's slight blush when paired with a pirate's self satisfied smirk could only mean one thing. Jack Sparrow had … "pillaged" his baby sister. A string of oaths he would never voice in front of a lady settled in his brain. He felt light-headed, for once, not from loss of blood. Throughout the past two years he'd spent many nights carousing in Tortuga with Sparrow. He knew, in lurid detail, for Sparrow was given to storytelling, what the pirate considered a good time. His own sweet, baby sister. Of course, he knew that Annie had not been sweet, innocent, or a child for long years, but the mere thought of her … and Sparrow. He needed to lie down, before he fell down.

"James," he said, his voice raspy and his mouth dry. "S your ship. She, thank the good Lord, is your problem to deal with."

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The former officer, who'd gone pale as a sheet, retreated back into the sleeping cabin, refusing any aid from his cousin. James did not need to be told that Annie's sudden intrusion was his problem. He already knew that he would have to be the one to decide what to do with the troublesome woman. He had hoped that Prescott would make some sort of insistence, one way or the other. Annie's older brother was an imposing man, and James could somehow justify going along with his demands. Prescott, however, had neatly dumped this situation in James' lap and headed for the hills, as it were.

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Please, God, no. He knew. Anamaria felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach and sit like a ton of lead shot in her abdomen. She was a grown woman, very capable of making her own choices. She was a widow, and as such, was considered able to run the affairs of her own estate and cavort with whomever she pleased. Most women who became widowed in Kingston either re-married as quickly as possible, or never again. Those who chose not to walk down the aisle a second time morphed into shrewd business types who held their assets in an iron grip and carried on liaisons that fueled aristocracy's gossip for months at a time. Between her not so honorable late husband and her pirate brother, Ana was no stranger to the sidelong glances of the proper gentry. She cared little for what the well to do women of Jamaica thought of her.

In contrast, she cared a great deal what her older brother thought of her, and her _encounter_ with Jack was something she had wanted to keep to herself, at least for the present. She knew how foolish she was to think she could hide this from him. Prescott was an amazing liar, and a liar of his capacity could always spot someone else in a lie. Honesty was the best policy with Prescott, but how exactly does one tell one's eldest brother that one has been … "pillaged" by a pirate?

Quite unable to meet Norrington's disapproving stare, Ana instead sought the face of said pirate. Jack's dark eyes were not fixed on her face, however. His sights seemed to be set a bit lower, to the wholly inappropriate amount of skin that was peaking out from between the ties of the man's shirt she was wearing. Ana crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at the pirate Captain, who's eyes suddenly snapped up to a more acceptable altitude. Rather than looking abashed, the pirate winked, Ana's own lusty memories reflected in black depths.

"Mr. Gillette," Norrington's voice interrupted lewd flashbacks. The Navy man shot Jack a glance, and the pirate disappeared into the sleeping cabin seconds before the young lieutenant stepped into his Captain's quarters. "We cannot possibly spare the time to convey Miss Tarret back to shore," he scowled, clearly a woman on board, along with his other guests, was not something he was looking forward to. "Please, make your cabin available to her, and find her something else to wear."

The lieutenant nodded, though he seemed unable to understand his superior's rationale. "We have no women's clothes aboard, Sir," he stammered.

"Take one of the midshipman's uniforms," Norrington said, then quiet so only Ana could hear, "Anything would be an improvement."

The lady smiled inwardly, wondering if the exposed bit of skin had been responsible for James hurrying her out of his quarters. A proper gentleman was incredibly easy to disconcert. The younger officer saluted, before holding the door open to Ana.

"Thank you, James," she said.

"Don't act as though you gave me much of a choice in this matter, Miss Tarret," the stoic Captain retorted.

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Prescott had somehow managed to drag himself to his feet by the time the pirate slipped back into the sleeping cabin. Given his infernal luck, he knew he never should have assumed that all would go according to planned on this excursion. In fact, an entire array of things had to fall in place in a precise sequence for anything to go right. He should have known that he could count on his little sister to throw off his best laid plans, she always had in the past. Why should this be any different? But, he had been hopeful. Naïve, and stupid, but hopeful.

Now, glaring at Jack Sparrow he realized that anytime wily pirates, ambitious officers, and meddlesome women were thrown into the mix, any plan he came up with would be doomed to failure. How he longed for two arms at this moment so he could simply strangle Jack and have done with it. Reason told him that any scuffle between the two would end badly for him, in his weakened condition, but that didn't keep him from wanting to deck the pirate just the same.

"Wha's wrong, Scotty?" Jack whispered once the door was closed behind him. The younger man seemed genuinely concerned. Prescott probably still looked exhausted and in terrible pain. Make no mistake, if the older pirate could have collapsed onto his hammock and passed out he happily would have done so, but he was in no worse pain than what was becoming normal. His injuries were causing no immediate danger, but he was perfectly content to let Sparrow worry, to let him suffer just a bit.

"I have to say Jack," Prescott hissed. "I never really expected you to ask for my blessing, but some warning would have been much appreciated."

Sparrow straightened, appearing to know exactly to what Prescott was referring.

"Were you ever planning to mention this, or was I to wait until the children had been born?" The former officer knew he was being unfair. The pirate hardly had any chance in which he could have spoken with Prescott about what had transpired. Jack was always one to seek the opportune moment, and said moment had not presented itself. When was this discussion to have taken place, when they were singing in the streets? Yes, he was being incredibly unfair, not that he particularly cared.

Before Jack could respond, assuming he was going to, the small cabin's door was flung open. Norrington, whose face had gone an alarming shade of pink, stormed inside. "I cannot believe you would go to such lengths," he said, through gritted teeth. "What a laugh the two of you must have shared at my expense when I thanked you for not bringing the whole family aboard."

Prescott's eyebrows rose. Was James accusing him of knowing that Annie had decided to hide in the galley? Was it getting warm in this tiny cupboard? He exchanged glances with Sparrow, who looked just as surprised by Norrington's insinuations. "James, I assure you –"

"I have no more need for your assurances, Prescott," the Captain interrupted.

He must be angry. James Norrington was polite and proper to a fault. He never interrupted, never rose his voice, and certainly never stormed into a closed room uninvited to hand out unfounded accusations. Well, maybe not completely unfounded. Prescott knew that his sister was given to flights of fancy that most women would never imagine. Perhaps if he would have given the matter more thought, he would have counseled Annie to stay at home and not even consider tagging along, but she'd never had much use for his advice. When her mind was made up, Annie was not easily deterred. But, sneaking aboard a ship of war in man's clothing was a stretch even for her.

"I've a good mind to throw you into the sea and leave you to the sharks," James was going on. "I doubt you'd be much use swimming in your condition."

Prescott's mouth fell open. He was taken completely off guard by his friend's low blow. Norrington's threat was empty. At least Prescott was pretty sure his former colleague would not leave him to the mercy of sharks, but he still could not stop the unbidden images of himself floundering in the water, helpless to save himself. His vision swam, and he was suddenly very warm.

"I beg your pardon, but if you are implying that Prescott had anything to do with Anamaria's appearance, you are quite mistaken," Sparrow's voice protested from somewhere very far away. He was very convincing in the part of an offended aristocrat. Prescott was vaguely aware of Jack stepping between himself and James, but the situation playing out in front of him was becoming increasingly muddled.

"I made no implication," Norrington said. "I believe I was perfectly clear. Your cousin has been pulling wool over my eyes for years. This is where it ends. I'll help you find Boothe, for Annie's sake, but past that you'll get no assistance from me. Are you even listening to me, Prescott?"

He was trying to, really. He was also trying to keep his balance so that he didn't fall flat on his face, which at the moment was taking priority over listening to James' tirade. The longer he remain perched on top of aching legs, the more dizzy he became, and, damned if the small cabin hadn't turned into a raging furnace since Norrington had entered.

"Scotty?" Jack's voice was very close, very troubled. "Ye alright, mate?" The pirate was holding fast to Prescott's arm, but for some reason the former officer couldn't seem to respond to, or even see, his shipmate. Before he knew what had happened, the floorboards had risen up to meet his ragged body. Jack was saying something about a surgeon. Norrington was leaving … Someone was pawing at his forehead, yelling his name. It was hot, and dark. It was dark … very … very … dark.

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Anamaria squirmed somewhat as she fastened the buttons of the midshipman's vest. True, the clothing fit much better than the flowing shirt she had been wearing, and she was decidedly more covered. However, she could not say that she was more comfortable, for she had two rather prominent accoutrements that most midshipmen did not possess. The brass buttons pulled apart slightly at her chest, but as a whole, the uniform was infinitely better than the torture devices that women were normally expected to wear. Imagine the stir she could cause if she wore breeches all the time. She chuckled under her breath, at the notion of striding into a grand ballroom wearing a jacket and boots. Maybe she could even strap a sword around her waist.

A knock at the door interrupted Ana's fantasy. The lieutenant that had first discovered her in the galley, sullenly stuck his head in the room. "The Captain left orders that you're to be allowed time up on deck, should you desire some fresh air."

Ana flashed the young man a wide grin. "That would be lovely," she said, picking up the Navy blue jacket that completed her uniform. Pushing past the lieutenant she made her was up to the quarterdeck. No doubt, the lieutenant was supposed to escort her and even converse with her to keep her occupied, but he made no move to do so. Not missing his company, Ana stood at the rail watching the large white birds that flew so far out to sea. They circled lazily in the sky, every once in a while diving towards the water, surfacing moments later with a fish in their bill. The gulls seemed so careless and free, but every night they were forced to return to the land to sleep. They were tied to Jamaica's shores, just as she had always been. She could make a grand show of flying as far away as her wings could take her, but she always returned to the land, to the town she'd grown up in. That wasn't freedom. It hardly even passed for an escape, anymore.

"What does a stowaway contemplate as she looks to the sea?" Ana turned to greet another one of _Interceptor_'s lieutenants. This man, older than Gillette, smiled warmly, tipping his hat to the lady. "Lieutenant Billings, ma'am."

Returning his smile, Ana curtseyed. "What sort of an answer does a gentleman expect when he teases a woman?" she challenged.

"I meant no disrespect. I merely wished to make the acquaintance of Captain Tarret's sister." Ana's eyebrows rose. "I had the privilege of sharing a table with your brother when he dined with Captain Norrington. I've heard much about you."

"Mr. Billings, please do not judge me by words from my scoundrel of a brother," she laughed.

"No, no. He was quite complementary."

"Was he, indeed?" Ana highly doubted that. "How many glasses did it take for Prescott to bestow a word of praise on his sister?"

The officer only smiled again, apparently wary of making any untoward comments about a superior officer, a former superior officer. "It was an honor to meet you, as it was to meet him." Bowing slightly, the lieutenant returned to his post on deck, near the wheel. Eyes, sharp as the blade of the sword at his hip, scanned the horizon, searching for the smallest indication of danger.

She smiled at the man's kind words. Admitting to be honored by the acquaintance of a pirate was certainly not to be expected. But, then again, she had yet to meet anyone on whom Prescott had failed to leave an indelible impression. Even James Norrington, who saw everything in terms of black and white, right and wrong, had agreed to keep her brother hidden from the authorities. She could still remember stories Prescott had told about his officers and crew aboard _Loyalty_. He knew every man's name from his first lieutenant to the youngest powder boy. He could play aristocratic games of chance in his cabin with his officers or spin yarns to delight the most superstitious sailor. He had always been more democratic than many of his colleagues, no wonder he made a fine pirate.

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Norrington sat on the edge of his desk, watching Prescott's cousin pace in front of the sleeping cabin door. The elderly doctor was inside attending to his patient, and James was forced to attend to his guilt. What had come over him, bullying a man who'd just survived days of continuous torture? He was no barbarian and yet he had acted in a manner so barbaric that he was completely ashamed. Between promising no more aide and threatening to throw him into the sea, James had presented Prescott with fear and doubt that the injured man did not need.

He could only imagine what Prescott's cousin was thinking, blaming Norrington for this unfortunate turn in Prescott's condition. Mr. Jackson continued to walk back and forth in front of the closed door. Every now and again, he would bring his hand to his chin, as though tugging on a beard that wasn't there. His black eyes were focused on the floorboards. James' tilted his head to one side as he watched Mr. Jackson. For some reason, the man seemed slightly familiar to the Navy Captain, although he was quite certain he'd never met any of Prescott's extended family. Odd, however, that Prescott had never mentioned this man with whom he seemed to be so close. Jackson had called the former officer "Scotty," and James knew that Prescott did not abide nicknames. They must be very close.

At that moment, the doctor opened the door and stepped into the main part of Norrington's cabin. James rose to his feet and Jackson ceased his movement. "He has a fever," the white haired man announced, shaking his head. "It's no wonder after what he's been through." The doctor glared at both men. "What he needs is rest," he said, his words scolding. Norrington was about to protest, but the doctor went on. "I've bled him, to try bring his temperature down, and I've administered laudanum to help him sleep. I'll stay with him tonight, cloth soaked with cool water should do the trick."

"I'll do it," Jackson volunteered.

"And I will let you," the elderly man said. "Seeing as you are more responsible for him being in this condition, than I." The younger man's face paled.

"Thank you, Doctor," Norrington prevented the man from chastising Jackson further. "Your medical opinion is all we require at the moment." The physician nodded curtly and made his exit. James turned back to Mr. Jackson. "I believe this doctor knew Prescott a long time ago," he explained. "He's a touch overprotective."

"Aye, tha' he is," Jackson agreed, in a voice that seemedhauntingly familiar.

TBC

Well, as you noted the gang's all here! Now things can really get dicey.

Angel In Hell: Fear not! I'm given to writing very longs stories, so, yes, there's much more!

SylviaD: James is quite obviously very conflicted where Prescott is concerned. He had to think about the value of their friendship, his friendship with Ana, and, of course, his career. It's quite a load. And, I have to respond to your last review when you told me you spent a whole day re-reading my stories ... Wow. I'm flattered beyond words that you spent so much time in the little world I created. I appreciate it more than I can possibly say. Thank You.

Rose of England: I love Norry too! I hope the reactions I gave to Ana's appearance were fun to read. She really has a knack for throwing a monkey wrench into an already complicated situation, doesn't she?

Love2rite: I think Jack and Ana will continue to surprise each other by appearing in unexpected places for years to come!

Cal: I'm so very sorry that your conflicted about Jack because you're reading "Kindling." It is a bit interesting to write two versions of the same character at such different points in their lives, I hope I'm doing alright. And, I just want to say, that Jack is a fallable person just like everyone else (even though he never fails to look perfect!). One top of his faults, he's a man which just stacks up more complications on top of everything else. I just imagine Jack and Ana's relationship being very dynamic. Love each other one moment, hate eachother the next. Two personalities like theirs just can't be all sunshine and roses, right? Anyway, they can love so completely and fight so dramatically because under everything is a very deep, very true love. It's just starting in "Brothers" and it's been through one ringer after another by "Kindling," but after all that time they are still on the same ship and still a big part of each other's life. So, that's gotta count for something. So, give Jack a break, cause faults and all, I still see him as an amazing man!

BlackMary47: Thank you so much for your kind words. I'm so happy you're enjoying what I'm doing. I love writing the relationship between Jack and Prescott, and I'm glad to see that you seem to like reading it! Thank you!

Jenclai: You flatter me. I love writing, especially about colorful characters like these, so I'm glad you think I do a decent job.

Anon: Nope, Ana's not the type to wait around while the boys have all the fun, and here's the update, so keep your head on!

Yuna-Flowering: Well, I hope Prescott and Jack's reactions didn't dissappoint. I'm so glad you're a Norry fan, the guy gets a bad rap in so many stories that I decided to paint a bit nicer picture! Happy to hear you appreciate it.

Freak87: Prescott certainly does seem able to corrupt the incorruptable doesn't he? I think that's why I love him. As for Norry considering turning Prescott in, well, Delaney did offer to give him everything he ever wanted, career wise. I think anyone would think about it, but as for what he'll actually do ... wait and see!

THANK YOU to everyone else who's reading this story. I hope you're all still enjoying it!


	16. Maldita Sea

Disclaimer: I own nothing from PotC.

**Maldita Sea:**

A ship. Bright blue and gold silhouetted against the rising sun. She was carrying full sail, and her course was set …straight for him. The craft would arrive at her destination by nightfall. The man laughed depreciatingly, as he lowered the glass from his eye. There was no mistaking the vessel, no other ship could have made such good time: _Interceptor_, Captain James Norrington. The same man who had stood idly by and watched the marines drag him off to a life of incarceration. The same man who had been part and party to Prescott Tarret's vengeful scheme. James Norrington was rushing gallantly to silence his nemesis once and for all.

Black Charlie smiled maliciously, staring down the approaching ship. Let him come. "Like a lamb to the slaughter," he said aloud. Let Norrington bring his guns and his marines. He would be watching, and waiting. Boothe turned and made his way down from the rocky bluff on which he'd been standing. Let them all come, he would be ready. Prescott Tarret had learned his lesson. He had paid for his crimes against Boothe. So, would anyone who had stood between Black Charlie and what was rightfully his. He would find Prescott's feisty sister. He would get his ruby back from Jack bloody Sparrow, and they would all pay. He spared one final glance for the ship that was getting closer and closer. They would not go unpunished this time.

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Anamaria was up very early, or very late, depending on how one looked at the situation. She had stayed up most of the night, bathing her brother's burning brow with cool water. She went to sit with Jack and Prescott as soon as she learned that her brother's condition had worsened. Sometime in the middle of the night, Jack had fallen asleep and Ana had let him. He had barely uttered a word, so intent was he on caring for his shipmate. Ana was amazed at how plainly his worry and fear had been displayed on the pirate's face. Jack would have walked through fire to bring Prescott some small relief. When he'd finally succumbed to his exhaustion, Ana had let him sleep. Prescott hated being fussed over, and he would have been supremely embarrassed if he awoke to find two worried hens cooing over him. She smiled, wondering what Jack would think of being compared to a mother hen.

But, Prescott hadn't awoke. He remained locked in a sleep that hardly seemed restful. The entire night, Ana stared at the various injuries her brother had sustained. More times than she could count her body had shivered at the thought of how those injuries had come to pass. She had laid her hands over Prescott's right shoulder, making real the fact that her brother would spend the rest of his life crippled. She wondered if it was his body or his soul that had collapsed to the floor.

"Is that where he is?" she asked, suddenly aware of someone's presence behind her on deck. She'd emerged from below as the sun emerged from it's resting place beneath the horizon. She'd heard the lieutenant, Mr. Billings, order a change in course, so that the vessel was pointed straight for an island that was just starting to poke up from the sea.

Clearing his throat, James Norrington came to stand next to the lady. "If the information I received is correct," he said. "That is where Black Charlie will be hiding."

"Or waiting," Ana added, quietly. After hearing what her brother, and James, had done to Boothe, she was much more frightened by the prospect of catching up with him. Years he'd spent aboard that prison ship, buying his time until he could escape and seek his revenge. He was foiled in Kingston, but a man so driven by hatred, would not be so easily deterred. If they, aboard _Interceptor_, could see the island, it would not be long before Boothe could see them. He could watch them approach, so that by the time they arrived, his defenses would be perfectly crafted. He would simply have to wait, seething all the while.

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_He had seen men flogged, dozens of times. He'd even ordered it when he had been Captain of _Loyalty_. When a crime outlined in the Articles of War was not punishable by death, the cat was called out of the bag to dole out retribution. The severity of the crime, or the Captain's whim, dictated how many lashes the condemned soul was to receive. He had watched his bosun draw blood and tear skin. He'd seen tears streak the cheeks of the heartiest sailor and heard the screams of some of the most hardened men._

_He, however, had entered the Navy as an officer. If ever he was to be punished, his rank provided that he be disciplined in a more creative, if less painful manner. Continuous watch, half rations, and constant drilling had been among these more imaginative punishments. The point had been made, but the skin on his back had never been broken … until now._

_The strike of the lash itself did not actually draw the pain. It was after the cat had been dragged across his flesh that the agony set in. The musty air of Black Charlie's hold mingling with the fresh cuts set his back ablaze with a pain wholly unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He struggled against the ropes binding his wrists, trying hopelessly to escape this torment. He knees shook and threatened to cease supporting his ragged body. The fibers from the rope stuck in the wounds only to be wretched out with the next whip of the lash. The tears he refused to cry scorched his eyes. The blood running from his mouth where he bit down on his tongue seared his cheeks and throat, but he had managed to stay silent. The occasional grunt, and groan, were the only satisfaction he intended to give the sadistic bastard who stood calmly ordering another dozen. Each time the rope sliced into his back, he swore would be the last time he could manage to keep his voice in check, but somehow, his resolve held fast._

_Held, that is, until Black Charlie decided to dip the cat in seawater. This time, as the soaking rope bit into swollen, bleeding flesh, his voice was ripped from somewhere deep inside of himself. Saltwater seeped into every cut and scrap, igniting a pain that welled up from the very core of his being. Again and again the cat clawed at already torn skin. He cried out until his throat was parched and raw. When he was finally freed from the bindings holding his wrists, he fell, trembling to the floor. His whole body shook, violently as his blood poured out from three dozen lacerations. Rough hands and boots forced him to lie on his brutalized back. Black Charlie loomed overhead, "Looks like yer grand plan got a bit off track, don't it?" he snarled. "Now I want me ruby back, where is she?"_

_He barely had the strength to breath, much less speak, but, with his last ounces of defiance, he refused to tell. He called Boothe a scoundrel and a miserable failure. He used every curse he'd ever learned, and years at sea had taught him many. He damned the evil pirate to the darkest corners of hell. Boothe kicked him hard, square in the chest. His body convulsed, vainly he attempted to protect himself from further onslaught. Sneering, the pirate placed one foot on his chest, grinding his open wounds down onto the floorboards. "Yer a fool, Prescott Tarret," Boothe had spat. "Ye and yer family'll pay for yer foolishness."_

All at once, Prescott sat bolt upright in his hammock, gasping for breath. Jack, who must have been sitting close by, nearly fell off of his stool, shocked by the sudden activity. In managing to keep himself seated, he did, however, overturn a large bowl of water. The pirate's rumpled clothes and bedraggled appearance led Prescott to believe that Jack had been at his side since he had collapsed. God only knew how long ago that was. He also knew he should probably try to say something to let Jack know that he wasn't going to up and die at any moment, but he couldn't.

Instead, he practically leapt from the hammock and pushed open the door. If he was going to save even a small shred of his dignity, he had to escape that tiny room. He ran as fast as unsteady legs would take him through Norrington's, thankfully empty, cabin and out onto the small balcony that jutted out slightly from the ships' stern. Leaning over the decorative railing he emptied his stomach of everything he'd eaten in the past three months. His head spun and his knees shook, as he continued retching long after everything in recent memory had vacated his stomach. Finally, he sunk down to the deck and leaned against the railing, quite unwilling and unable to stand. He closed his eyes and sat shivering on James' balcony. He heard footsteps, most likely Sparrow, and someone seat themselves next to him on the floor.

"Never would've thought you were the type t' get seasick," Jack's voice chided softly.

Prescott managed a weak laugh before telling Jack to kindly keep his mouth shut. The younger pirate fell silent, but did not move from his spot next to his crewmate. Grateful for the quiet show of support, Prescott was content to stay exactly where he was. If only the rocking motion of the sea truly were the cause of all his woes, how much easier that would be to accept. Rather queasiness than memory. He had wanted to completely and utterly forget the torment that Boothe had rained down on him in that dark hold. He hadn't replayed any of it in his dreams before now. Maybe it was his proximity to that monster, or the impending confrontation. Maybe his memories were triggered by the knowledge of what he would have to do. Either way, if he could somehow cut out the part of his brain that housed those horrible recollections, he would have. But he could no more banish those memories than he could banish the fear and doubt that were firmly taking hold of his entire being.

He had a grand plan. He always had a plan, and this was a good one. Flawless. He'd worked out everything down to the most minute detail. He'd allowed for every possible scenario. He had not allowed for his own uncertainty, his own weakness. Would he really be able to hold up his end?

"We're in sight of the island," Jack informed, at length. "The one that Boothe was headed to, if Norrington's information was good."

"Oh, he's there," Prescott said. "Waiting."

"We'll be there by sunset."

Prescott nodded.

"Got something up your sleeve, then?"

Opening his eyes for the first time since Jack joined him on the balcony, Prescott regarded the younger pirate. "We have to make sure he doesn't get in his head to go after Annie, again." He sat up a bit straighter, hoping body would follow orders and stop shaking. "You and she are going to go find Boothe. That shouldn't be too hard. He's watching our approach. He won't run. He wants to be found."

Jack furrowed his brow. "Ye want me an' your sister to take on Boothe while you and the Navy … what, have tea?"

Prescott grinned. "I hear James' steward makes a fine crumpet," he jested. "But, I'm afraid that will have to wait."

"Bad luck, mate."

"You and Annie aren't going to fight Boothe, you're going to strike a bargain with him."

Jack arched an eyebrow, his interest increasing. "A deal with the devil, eh?" he said. "Wha' sort of a bargain?"

"Safe passage for you and Annie, in exchange for his ruby and … me."

The pirate Captain's face turned instantly solemn. "I'll not leave ye to his mercy," he protested.

"I should hope not," Prescott smiled, placing a hand on Jack's shoulder to ease the younger pirate's mind. "Tell Boothe that you'll lead me away from Norrington and his marines. Scout out a cave, or any spot out of sight of _Interceptor_. Tell him, he'll be able to come up on me, take me by surprise. I'll inform James, and he'll have men hidden nearby. I'll give a signal, he'll attack, and I'll slip away in the confusion. Meanwhile, you and Annie are on _Loyalty_ preparing to sail as far away from here as we can get."

"Wha' if a certain Captain seeking to be Commodore decides t' give chase? This bloody ship is still faster than _Loyalty._"

Prescott shrugged and shook his still spinning head. "He may want to be Commodore, but he still values the friendship we had. He may have considered it, but he's probably having a hard time convincing his conscience to go along with his ambition. If he goes home with Black Charlie Boothe in his hold, he can soften the blow a bit. Hell, we could even leave him the ruby. I doubt Delaney's above taking a bribe, maybe old James'll still see his promotion confirmed."

"Leave 'im the ruby."

Prescott winked. "We could always take it back, unless you have some moral scruple against stealing from an Admiral."

The Cheshire grin overtook Jack's face. "I think I'd be able t' sleep at night, somehow," he said.

The older man returned Sparrow's smile, though he doubted the sentiment reached his eyes. It was a good plan, and it might have even worked.

88888

Anamaria was reclining on the cot in the small cabin that Lieutenant Gillette had reluctantly vacated for her benefit. She was lazily flipping through the pages of a copy of _Don Quixote_ that she had found in his sea chest, not that she had been snooping. She only understood about every third word of the Spanish text, but she still found the exercise entertaining. More amusing, however, was finding this particular book in the possession of an officer of the Crown. She briefly thought about bringing this enemy literature to Norrington's attention, if only to teach Mr. Gillette not to be rude to a lady. She had just arrived at a chapter that somehow pertained to pigs, when she became aware of someone approaching her door.

Maybe it was his slightly irregular gait, or the spicy scent of the rum that was always on his breath that alerted her to his presence, but somehow, she knew it was Jack before he knocked softly and slipped into the cabin. Rising as he silently closed the door behind him, Ana smiled widely. She had been hoping that he would manage to sneak away from Prescott's ever watchful eye and visit her.

The single candle, that she had been reading by, cast a warm glow on the pirate's skin, accentuating his deeply tanned skin and causing his eyes to appear blacker and more fathomless than usual. Coming closer, the pirate took the book from Anamaria's hand, and glanced at the cover. Meeting her eyes, he quirked an eyebrow. "_No sabía que hables español._"

She did not realize that Jack spoke Spanish. She found herself wishing she understood more of the language.

The pirate grinned, moving closer to the lady. Leaning down, he purred in her ear. "_Tu pareces muy caliente en estas ropas, pero parecería mejor sin las._" The silky, foreign syllables rolled off of the pirate's tongue. Ana smiled uncertainly. She had no idea what he had just said, but, judging by the look in his dark eyes, she doubted it was something he would have dared to utter in English.

"What did you say?" she asked, playfully pushing Jack away.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he once again forced proximity. "Just recitin' a bit o' scripture," he said nipping at the tender flesh of Ana's neck. "Something I remembered from my childhood days in Spain … cousin."

88888

Prescott was still lingering on James' balcony, when the Navy Captain re-entered his cabin. Miraculously, he had managed to calm his stomach enough to keep down some of the food that Dr. Brendwhite had delivered, but the sun was commencing it's descent and his queasiness was threatening to return. Prescott was nervous. He hated being nervous. He was not overly concerned about his plan. He was, however, rather anxious when thinking on the effects of said plan.

"Prescott," Norrington said, by way of a greeting, as he stepped on to the balcony.

"Changed course," Prescott commented. "I trust that means we're closing in on our destination."

James nodded. "An hour, two at the most," he supplemented. "We'll stay aboard until morning. He already knows we're onto him, so we've got no element of surprise to speak of. No use floundering about in the dark, when Boothe knows this island better than we do."

"Right," the older officer agreed. "Still wouldn't hurt to keep one of the watches at the sails, in case he does decide to run."

"Better safe than sorry, but I don't think either of us expects him to run."

Prescott shook his head. He moved to cross his arms, belatedly realizing that was a gesture he could no longer perform. Rolling his eyes, he held his left arm in front of his chest anyway. To hell with Norrington, if he thought Prescott looked ridiculous.

Norrington, however, was completely lost in his own thoughts, and did not appear to notice his former colleague's odd posture. "Prescott, I know you heard Delaney yesterday, when he offered my promotion in exchange for you."

"I did."

Norrington shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Well, I just wanted to say that if something should happen …I mean, it may get a bit harried out there. With all of the injuries you've already sustained …"

Cocking his head to one side, Prescott eyed his fellow suspiciously. "What are you trying to say, James?" He knew exactly to what Norrington was referring. He was giving Prescott an out, offering him a means of escape, but he wanted to hear the by-the-book Navy man say the words.

James sighed. Slowly, his light eyes rose to meet his former superior's stare. "It was too soon for you to leave the hospital. The doctor already said that, at least a dozen times," he said. "If you were … er … killed in your pursuit of Boothe, well, no one would find it hard to believe."

"Nothing to explain to Admiralty if the pirate rushed off to his own doom, eh, James?"

Norrington grinned. "On second thought, I may take an inordinate amount of pleasure in turning you over to Shane." Prescott laughed. "Where is your cousin?" James changed the subject. "I was hoping to speak with him."

The former Admiral pursed his lips. Why in the devil did James want to speak with Jack? "I'm not sure, actually. Why'd you want to see him?" Prescott asked, slightly concerned by the fact that he did not actually know where Jack had gone … although he could venture a pretty good guess.

Shrugging, James said, "I thought we'd spend some time swapping stories. Mr. Billings reported that your cousin was wearing a uniform when he was found in Annie's house. His face, and his voice, are so familiar. I figure we must have crossed paths in some port."

"You'd be surprised." _You've tried to hang the man twice … I_ _guess you could call that crossing paths._

"Surprised? Why?" James turned to the older officer. "Something untoward in his past?"

_Damn his ears._ "Untoward? In my family, James, please." _No, James nothing untoward. In fact, he isn't even really a family member, not by blood anyway. He's actually Jack Sparrow, you remember, the pirate I broke out of prison two years ago when I threw away my whole career … yes, he's also the one who convinced my sister to break just about every law in the book. But, no, nothing untoward._

Norrington laughed quietly. "Nothing too bad, I'll wager," he said. "For, I'm certain your family couldn't possibly produce two pirates."

_Lord, strike me down. Here. Now, just end it. _Prescott briefly considered throwing himself from the balcony. He couldn't swim, anymore. He would surely drown. Let Jack get himself out of this mess. Now, James had the notion of piracy in his head right alongside the notion of Prescott and Annie's mysterious cousin. _Yes, just take me, God._ He wants to spend time reminiscing with Captain Jack Sparrow. While the wily pirate certainly had some great stories, none of them involved proper Navy activities in which he could have intermingled with James Norrington. Jack was a fairly adept liar, and his gentlemanly accent was, indeed, right on the money, but still, with visions of pirate's dancing in his head, it wouldn't take James ten minutes to recognize the famous buccaneer. Prescott leered down at the churning Caribbean sea. Nope, no good. James would most likely jump in to rescue him and then where would he be? _Bolts of holy lightning, Lord. That's all I'm asking for. _Prescott's eyes rose to the sky in the vain hope that the clouds would be opening up and a storm would be brewing. Nothing happened. _Punishing me aren't you? For slugging that priest?_ No reply. Prescott simply smiled genially. "Two pirates in one family. No, of course not."

James smiled. "Well, when you find him. Tell him I'm interested in sharing a glass and a tale or two."

_You'd have to kill me first.._ "Certainly," Prescott agreed. "I'll just go look for him, if you don't mind." _So we can get the hell off of your ship._

"Just, lay low," Norrington cautioned.

"It'll be like I'm not even here."

88888

Cousin? Ana closed her eyes and let her head loll to the side as Jack continued to kiss her neck. If she truly had been given a cousin like this pirate, she would gladly enter in an incestuous relationship. Jack's hands were tugging the uniform jacket from her shoulders. He stopped kissing her neck just long enough to rid himself of his own shirt. With the cloth hindrance forgotten on the floor, he moved back in catching her mouth with his own. Ana fumbled with the buttons of her own shirt, a menial task made increasingly difficult by the fact that the pirate's hand was massaging her breast, causing her mind to go to mush.

"Jack, stop," she said. "Just for a second."

He stepped back slightly, but did not stop fondling her breast. "_La tita buena se cabe en la mano,"_ he said.

"Alright, enough," Ana scolded good-naturedly. "What does that mean?"

From somewhere behind the pirate, another voice answered. "It's an old Spanish proverb." Ana swore silently. It was definitely Prescott's voice. Jack made a face that somewhat resembled a painful grimace, but he did not turn around to face her big brother. "First, said by a monk, I believe," Prescott was going on, "Though, I imagine the circumstances were a bit different."

Ana peaked out from around Jack's naked torso. Prescott was leaning in the doorway, one arm in front of his chest. It would have been crossed had he still been in possession of the other arm. His lips were pursed, and he was wearing an expression that Ana had never seen before. Supreme irritation, most likely. "Well, what does it mean?" she squeaked, hastily refastening the few buttons she had somehow come undone. Jack groaned quietly, as though she had just asked the exact wrong question.

A muscle in her brother's jaw twitched slightly. "We have to go," he said, completely ignoring her.

Jack faced Prescott for the first time, an inquiry in his eyes.

"James swears he recognizes you from somewhere," Prescott explained. "He's a bit gullible, but he isn't stupid. He'll figure this out soon enough, and I'd rather not be here when he does. I doubt the quandary between me and his promotion would be such a difficult decision once he learns I've snuck Jack Sparrow aboard his ship."

The pirate nodded, retrieving his shirt in silence. Wisely, he had not said anything about Prescott needing to learn to knock. Perhaps in two year flying the black flag together, Jack had come to know Prescott well enough to know the perilous consequences of teasing at a time like this.

"Annie," Prescott said. "I was unaware you were injured. Should I call the surgeon."

The lady's brow furrowed. What was he talking about? "What would make you think I'm injured?"

Prescott tilted his head to one side as he ceased leaning against the doorframe. "I can see no other explanation for the bruise on your neck." Disapproval on his face, her older brother turned to leave. "With me, Sparrow," he said.

Jack, still smart enough to keep quiet, followed. Ana smiled apologetically, as she padded towards the door to better hear what her brother was about to say.

"Sorry, to have interrupted that," Prescott was saying, in a deceivingly light tone of voice. "I will try to remember to knock in the future. Oh, and, if you hurt her, I will kill you."

TBC

Angel In Hell: I'm happy to have ruined the word "pillage" for you. I gladly take full responsibility. And, where someone as breathtakingly beautiful as Jack Sparrow is concerned, rest assured there will be more action!

Yuna-Flowering: The scene where Prescott figures his sister out was so fun to write. Poor man, what a sister like Ana must put him through! I hope you enjoyed the bit where he interrupts at a rather inopportune moment!

SylviaD: Getting lost in my story is the best compliment you could possibly give, thank you so much! I'm not sure exactly how this will go, but James isn't going to be in the dark much longer so, yes, the brothers will need each other.

Cal: Not to beat this subject to death, but I wanted to address something from your last review. When you said that you couldn't quite understand how Jack could hate Ana. I agree. Jack doesn't have a _legitimate_ reason to hate his hellcat at this point (although my muse is stirring up an idea that may give him one) Anyway, I think Jack hates Ana more for who she is, than for things she does. I mean, he guards his heart so fiercely and only lets certain people see inside and yet Ana can get inside his head without his permission. Maybe fear more than hate? I always love to read your insights, so please continue sending me the novels. And everyone seemed to be worried about Jack letting his guard down when Norry was around. I think he probably has a hard time dealing with loss. I remember one of the few serious moments in the movie was when Jack was telling Will about his father ... someone close that Jack lost. I think, he's very worried that the same thing will happen with Pres, so he kind of "forgets" that he's supposed to be playing the part of a long lost cousin. As always, thank you so much for your super long reviews!

BlackMary47: I hope this update was fast enough for you! You all left me such wonderful and kind reviews that I wrote this chappy as quickly as I could! I'm glad you enjoyed my version of the word "pillage." It just worked so well, I think! I'm also happy that you enjoyed Pres reacting to all of this turmoil, cause those are some of my favorite scenes to write!

Alicia: Are you really drawing scenes from my story? If you are, please please let me see some of your work! Tell the scanner to listen to you and get those pics online! I'm glad that you seem to totally understand Delaney. He's not really a good or a bad guy, he's just trying to get through his life with as little turmoil as possible (although when dealing with Anamaria, one can hardly avoid turmoil). Oh, and you want to see Groves, eh? Well, I'll see what I can work up. To answer your question about Gillette never meeting Ana, well, he didn't really. He met a woman who snuck on board of Norry's ship. James never really disclosed her identity. So, when he meets her in "Kindling" he could very well think he's meeting her for the first time. Thank you so much for your kind review. You love me for writing, and, I assure you, I love you for reading!

FearlessFreak: You are SO important enough to merit a little note! So, sorry haven't done so before now. You've been one of my very faithful reviewers and I always love to hear your input. Yeah, Ana got a bit embarassed. She doesn't quite seem the type, but she is facing her overprotective big brother! Now ... go update your story :-)

Freak87: Well, it wasn't Norry who caught them, but I think Jack and Ana were interrupted at a very inopportune moment! As for giving Pres a hard time, well, he was just torture for a whole week. He can't exactly recover overnight, but I'll try to be a bit nicer. I'm just so happy that you all seem to like Prescott so much!

Thank you Thank you Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! Your feedback is so instrumental to this writer! So, please don't move on without leaving a review. Oh, and if anyone is really wondering what all the Spanish was in this chappy, just let me know. I'd be happy to translate!


	17. Privateer

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC.

Chapter Seventeen: "Privateer"

"Tell the officer of the watch to loose more sail," Admiral Shane Delaney ordered his aide as he sat in his cabin going over the particulars of the plan he was committed to following. "And pass the word for Captain Williams." Spread out in front of him was a crude map of the island to which he was sailing. The small pile of rock, far from most trade routes and patrol paths, was of little concern to the Empire. Cartographers had marked the island's location on only the most detailed maps of the area. More than that for this unimportant spot of land was deemed unnecessary. Delaney found himself resenting that decision as well as the men who made it, for, at this very moment, one of the most dangerous criminals in the Caribbean was holed up on an island that the Navy knew next to nothing about.

His aide, falling over himself in an effort to speedily obey the Admiral's instructions, had rushed from the room, and moments later, the Captain of _HMS Dauntless_ entered. "You wished to see me, Sir?" he said. "Concerning the unfurling of more sail, I imagine."

Captain Sir George Williams was one of the very few subordinates for which Delaney had unending respect. Williams had been a lieutenant in the King's Navy almost six years before Shane enlisted. For valor in combat, Williams had been knighted by the king, and promoted when Delaney was still studying for his examination. The Captain, however, had no wealthy family or political connections to speak of, nor had he developed the ability to ignore his conscience, and, as such, would probably remain a post Captain the rest of his life. Still, Shane, mindful of Williams' vast experience, usually spoke to Sir George as he would speak to an equal.

"Indeed, Captain," Shane looked up from his desk. "We've stayed out of sight long enough."

"All do respect, Sir," Williams began. No matter how well the Admiral regarded him, a Captain was still required to use this phrase when daring to disagree with one of his superiors. "Won't our coming in sight of _Interceptor_ affect the plan, somewhat?"

The plan. Catching Boothe, finding that damnedable ruby, finally earning a lady's affections … everything hinged on the ingenuity of a man Shane had no reason to trust. Even now, Delaney was surprised he ever agreed to go along with this ploy, but, then again, Prescott Tarret could be very persuasive.

_Shane paused in front of Prescott Tarret's hospital room. He couldn't quite figure out what had brought him here. What could he possibly gain from speaking with Anamaria's famous older brother? On the walk from Admiralty, Delaney had tried to convince himself that he could not, in good conscience, hang the man without hearing his side of the story. Not true, of course. Tarret was a pirate, not a very well known pirate and not a particular threat to England, but a pirate. He would have to spin quite a tale to escape the noose. By the time he'd reached the hospital steps, Shane realized that he was driven by nothing more than idle curiosity._

_Though he'd held the position for only a matter of hours, Admiral Prescott Tarret had been Shane's predecessor. Besides that, every officer serving His Majesty knew of Tarret's daring exploits. Delaney could remember reading about former Admiral Fornin taking the flagship out against three well armed pirate vessels. A certain valiant lieutenant jumped in front of a bullet headed for Fornin's heart. In spite of his wounds, that same lieutenant managed to fire the cannon shot that crippled one of the pirate ships and sent the other two running with their tails between their legs. Upon his arrival in Kingston, the lieutenant was given a heroes welcome and instantly promoted. That lieutenant became Captain Tarret two years before Shane had attained the same rank. A man of unmistakable talent, Tarret had come to be one of the most renown, not to mention wealthiest, Captain's in the Navy. Delaney had been in the King's service easily ten years longer than Tarret, and he had yet to achieve that kind of success._

_"Admiral Delaney," Prescott greeted congenially, as Shane opened the door. "Just the man I've been hoping to see."_

_The Admiral stepped into Prescott's hospital room, visibly surprised that a man facing execution by the Admiral's hand would be happy to see him. Closing the door, Delaney moved closer to the ailing pirate's bedside. Having never met Tarret in person, Shane was not disappointed by the man. He hardly looked like someone who'd just survived a vile pirate's torture chamber. The former officer was perched on the edge of his bed, dressed in fine garments. His hair was tied back from his face, revealing a badly bruised and swollen eye and a nasty cut running along his jaw. If not for the fact that the right sleeve of his black shirt was tied in a knot where his elbow should have been, Shane would assume that Tarret had been involved in nothing worse than a tavern brawl. Apart from his initial greeting, Prescott sat silent under Delaney's scrutiny, regarding the Admiral with a thoughtful gaze. "Why would _you_ want to see _me_?" Shane asked, green eyes narrowed._

_"Admiral Delaney," Prescott repeated, "Captain Delaney, if not for my rather hasty departure from Kingston a few years back."_

_Shane straightened at Prescott's cutting remark. How many damn times did he have to hear that he owed his whole career to another man's degeneration? "If you are implying that I owe you some sort of clemency –"_

_"No, no," Prescott held up his one remaining hand to stop the Admiral's words. "Not clemency. I simply have a proposition for you, and you at least owe me the courtesy of hearing me out." Crossing his arms, the Admiral scowled. He did not share the injured man's opinion, however, whatever Tarret had to say, Shane was interested to hear. Prescott went on, "I have been engaged in acts of piracy for these past two years, a fact largely unknown except by a few good men at Admiralty. As for the townsfolk, well, there was some speculation concerning the timing of my departure coinciding with the loss of _Loyalty _and the escape of one, Captain Jack Sparrow, from the hold at Fort Arthur. I seem to remember most of the speculation concerning whether or not the pirate kidnapped or killed me to facilitate his escape. I recall nothing about my having descended to a life of crime, do you?" Prescott paused, more for effect than because he really expected Delaney to reply. "If you, the man who most benefited from my abrupt disappearance, were suddenly to bring me to be hanged in the square on charges of high treason … Well, I wonder what the speculation would be then?"_

_The Admiral's face darkened. The same thought had already crossed his mind. "Are you making threats from a hospital bed?"_

_"Let's call them observations for now, shall we?"_

_"Care to make any more _observations_?"_

_"Just one," Prescott smiled a serpent's smile. "Admiral Fornin, himself, chose me as his successor. I saved his life once, you know? I'll wager he was deeply grieved by my unorthodox refusal of his offer. A powerful man, Fornin. Probably be very happy to see me reinstated as Admiral."_

_Shane's eyes narrowed further, his face flushed slightly with anger. "Fornin has no authority to – "_

_"Fornin's brother-in-law is Kingston's governor, is he not?" Prescott mused, effectively silencing Shane's rebuttal._

_The Admiral felt as though pressure were building up in his skull so that he might explode at any moment. He took a breath, calming himself slightly. "If you expect me to just resign and give you your job back, you have another thing coming Tarret," he said through gritted teeth._

_The injured man smiled. "I would expect no such thing."_

_"Then, what do you want?" _

_"I'm going to tell you a secret, Shane," Prescott smiled, audaciously using the Admiral's Christian name. "I like being a pirate, much more than I liked being a loyal subject of the Crown." Delaney rolled his eyes. "I don't want my job back," Prescott said. "But, I must say, being hauled into different cells in different ports and threatened with different nooses in different squares grows a bit tiresome."_

_"Well, let me just draft a letter," Shane interrupted. "I'll send it round so that every ship in the area knows to just look the other way when you sail by. How would that be?"_

_"That would be most kind, Admiral," Prescott's voice was light, and friendly, a fact that only irritated Delaney. "But, what I propose is much simpler." He took a deep breath. " Grant me a commission. Privateer, in faithful service of His Majesty. I'll be no problem of yours and you'll be no problem of mine."_

_Delaney could not help but feel immensely relieved at what Tarret had proposed. A privateer's commission? That was all he wanted. If Prescott only realized that his suggestion could effectively solve so many of Shane's problems. He had not wanted to hang a former colleague, a former superior. Principle alone made the prospect daunting, to say nothing of the conversation he'd just had with a very irate woman. If he made Tarret a privateer, he wouldn't have to hang him. Brilliant. "Why would I do such a thing?" he said, not about to let Tarret know how interested he was in this course of action._

_Prescott raised his brow, shrugging. "From what I read, piracy in these waters has not been eliminated. If anything, it has thrived."_

_"Your point."_

_"You could bring me to justice in the square, a once decorated hero of England, largely unknown as a pirate, or …"_

_"Or what?" The Admiral was interested, but not exactly patient._

_"Or, you could rid the world of two well known pirate threats, and present His Majesty with the Heart of Captain Morgan. I've noticed you have not been knighted for your years of service to England. I imagine, given the prospect of adding the world's largest ruby to his collection, His Majesty would be quite accommodating."_

_"Black Charlie Boothe has escaped custody and taken off with your ship," Shane said. "I'm assuming he is one of the pirate's to which you're referring." Prescott nodded. "Who's the second?"_

_"If I hold a privateer's commission, I cannot see that I'll have any need of Jack Sparrow."_

_Delaney arched an eyebrow, now completely unable to hide his excitement. "You know where Sparrow is?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Well, this is quite a plan you've concocted," Delaney mused. "Explain to me why I'd want to go along with you, rather than, oh say, kill you?"_

_A smile played about the injured man's features. "You may remember that Captain Sparrow has flown in and out of Kingston a time or two. In doing so, he managed to capture my sister's fancy. Stretching his neck is one way to put an end to that, and, knowing I was responsible for betraying Sparrow would pretty much assure the fact that Annie will not ask for my blessing. What's to stop her from becoming an Admiral's wife?"_

_Shrewd, very shrewd. Not only had Prescott laid out the professional reasons for Delaney granting him a privateer's commission, he'd also mentioned the personal motivations. No wonder he'd ascended so smartly through the ranks. "Piracy agrees with you, Captain Tarret," Delaney said, bowing his head respectfully. He was rather glad to never have made an enemy of a man possessing such cunning, another good reason to commission Tarret._

_"Then, we are in agreement?"_

_The Admiral extended his hand, and then instantly withdrew it as soon as he realized that Prescott no longer had the ability to seal a deal in that manner. The pirate smirked, apparently amused by the Admiral's discomfort. "We have a deal," Delaney said, ignoring Tarret's grin. Shane had sent his aide immediately for the papers that would make Tarret a commissioned privateer. They worked out a detailed plan, ironing out any kinks, while they waited. As soon as the aide returned, Admiral Shane Delaney signed the issue, and Prescott was once again in the King's service. "So, what's your next step?" he asked, handing Captain Tarret the papers. _

_"Obtaining passage on _Interceptor_."_

_The Admiral furrowed his brow. Once upon a time, Tarret and Norrington had been close. The pirate seemed unconcerned with the intricacies of forcing his way onto Norrington's ship. "Should I be concerned that Captain Norrington is willing to forgo his duty to accommodate his pirate friends?"_

_"What James does, he does for Annie, not me," Prescott corrected. "All you have to do now, is burst into his cabin sometime tomorrow morning and act very concerned that I've escaped."_

_"Until tomorrow, then." Moments later, Delaney would pass two singing drunks stumbling down the darkened streets, and Prescott's plan would be in motion. No turning back for either of them._

"Yes, Williams, I suppose our early arrival would probably change a few things," Shane answered finally.

"Do you think that wise, Sir?"

Delaney eyed his subordinate. Williams, never one to step out of his place, only ever offered his advice when he thought it absolutely pertinent. The Admiral had no problem listening to his suggestions under normal circumstances, however, in this instance, he found Williams' skepticism annoying. "Captain, this scheme is far fetched enough without giving Prescott Tarret free reign to do whatever he wishes. He's a pirate."

"Well, not technically. You issued his commission yourself, Sir," Williams reminded, apparently intent on playing devil's advocate. "He's a privateer, now. He works for us."

"On paper, yes," Shane rose from his seat and leaned closer to the Captain. "But, I'd still rather keep an eye on him."

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What's done was done. No use denying the obvious. Still, as he stalked back towards James' cabin with a somewhat abashed pirate in tow, Prescott Tarret could not help but try to banish a rather disturbing image from his mind. When he entered a room being occupied by Jack Sparrow and his baby sister, skin was the last thing he wanted to see. "Of all the confounded …" he was muttering under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear. They were, all three of them, in the midst of a precarious situation that could turn deadly if James were to put two and two together and realize that the mysterious cousin from Spain was actually Jack Sparrow. He could allow that Annie may not understand the seriousness of their predicament, but Sparrow should know that this was not exactly the best time for a romp in a borrowed cabin. Prescott sighed and rolled his eyes. Maybe what he planned to do would not be so difficult after all.

He sighed bringing his hand to his chest. Concealed in the inner pocket of his vest was the piece of paper issued by the Admiral formally making him a privateer. So far, everything was falling in place exactly as he had planned, with the obvious exception of Annie showing up on James' ship. She would not be at all pleased with what he intended to do, not pleased in the least. But, what he had done was for Annie's safety. She would be furious, but she would be safe.

Pausing in front of Norrington's cabin, Prescott turned to the pirate captain who had followed him from Annie's room in silence. He regarded the man who had come to be his brother, but he could not see Sparrow without seeing him in Annie's cabin. "Be brief in there," he said, after a small shake of his head. "James will figure out who you are and I'd rather be off his ship when he does so. Just get to the sleeping cabin quickly, then, stay inside, stay quiet, and do try to keep your clothes on until we're ready to embark."

Jack squared his jaw. "Scotty," he said. Prescott said nothing. He simply stood and waited for Sparrow to go on. "I'd never hurt her. Ye know that."

The older pirate swallowed the snide remark that first came to his lips. "We need to hurry," he said.

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James had his back turned to the door when Prescott entered his cabin. Presumably, his cousin was also present, but he disappeared into the sleeping cabin before Norrington could question where they had met previous. "Good evening, Prescott," he greeted, somewhat uncertainly. The former officer was wearing a strange expression on his face, not anxious nor fearful. Something dismal, regretful, almost sad. More than that, Prescott hardly seemed the conniving, confident pirate who, from his hospital bed, had persuaded James to go along with this debacle. He looked tired, pale.

"James," Prescott said, bowing his head slightly. "I need a favor."

The Captain's eyebrow rose. He smothered his worries. Of course Prescott looked tired, he was after all only days away from grievous injury. But, if anything, Prescott could take care of himself. He did not need James fretting about him. "A favor?" As if conveying a wanted criminal, his cousin and his sister, was not enough. "I don't suppose I'll like it?"

At this, Prescott cracked a weary smile. "Probably not."

"Do I have a choice?"

The pirate's smile widened. "No. If you refuse, I will be forced to make you walk the proverbial plank." Prescott paused. "I might even say 'Arrr!"

James crossed his arms, preparing himself for Prescott's request. "Well, what will it be then?" he said. "Frogs? Locusts? Fiery hail from the heavens?"

"One of yours ship's boats."

Norrington sighed. "I'd rather frogs," he admitted. "What on earth do you need a boat for?"

"I'm going ashore, and, as you so eloquently pointed out earlier, I won't be much use swimming."

Eyes instantly on his own shoes, James felt his face flush. He could not believe he had been so cruel as to throw a man's disability back in his face. True, Prescott could be completely infuriating, but his behavior had been inexcusable. Hoping that his embarrassment was no longer clearly written on his face, Norrington raised his eyes to meet Prescott's. "I am sorry about that," he said.

Prescott shook his head, waving away his friend's apology. "I'll consider all forgiven if you'll permit me the use of your boat," he said. "My going in under cover of darkness will take Boothe by surprise and you'll not need to find some way to explain me to your men."

Sound arguments. If Black Charlie had no idea that Prescott was with _Interceptor, _he would be caught unprepared when the pirate did reveal himself. And, James had been wondering what he was going to say to the crew. Prescott surely would not content himself to wait on board while Norrington and his men went to deal with Boothe. Going ashore would put him in plain view of the crew. Some explanation would be required so the men didn't think their Captain had taken leave of his senses. James regarded the other man, sound arguments indeed. Prescott was up to something, of that, Norrington was certain. However, as usual, he had no idea what Prescott was planning.

"My, er, cousin will no doubt join me, whether or not I ask him to, and, one of yours can come along to assure that I don't abscond with your boat," Prescott said, apparently aware of the fact that James had misgivings about this latest venture.

"Marine," James shouted so that he could be heard in the corridor. "Pass the word for Mr. Billings."

"Thank you," Prescott said.

"Sir?" the lieutenant appeared in the cabin, obviously perplexed by Prescott's presence.

"Mr. Billings," Norrington began. "I've asked you here because I want you to ready one of the boats, and take Captain Tarret ashore." The lieutenant's brow rose. "And, I would appreciate your discretion in this matter." Billings smiled as he saluted, leaving the room to prepare the boat. Norrington had not doubt that the younger officer would keep his mouth shut about their unrecorded passenger. Prescott had been worshiped by young men in the Navy. His apparent loss had been mourned by many, including Mr. Billings. James realized, somewhat resentfully, that Billings opinion of his own Captain probably rose a few notches having discovered his willingness to help a former comrade. Someday, he would have to ask Prescott what his secret was.

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How he did it, she would never know, but somehow her brother had convinced James to let himself, Ana, Jack and Mr. Billings take one of _Interceptor's_ boats to shore under cover of darkness. The missing boat would be noticed, and questions asked, but James had let them go anyway. Ana crossed her arms and shook her head, wondering what sort of delicious tale Prescott had come up with. She was also wondering if her brother being such an uncommonly gifted liar should trouble her?

Perhaps this whole situation should trouble her. Prescott had some sort of plan, he always did, but he hadn't bothered to mention any of it to her. Point of fact, he hadn't actually spoken a single word to her since finding Jack in her cabin. He hadn't talked to Jack at all, either, come to think of it. Ana had not been able to watch Prescott descend into the ship's boat, with assistance from Mr. Billings. Prescott was a proud man, and she hated to see him so incapacitated. However, since they had pulled away from _Interceptor_, Ana had been watching Prescott very closely. His blue eyes were fixed on the sea, though the moonless sky provided no light, and she doubted he could actually see much of anything. Still, he certainly seemed to be looking at something, and he didn't seem happy about what he saw. Turning her eyes to the black water, Ana tried to follow her brother's gaze. After a few moments of letting her eyes adjust, she found the spot on which Prescott had been focused.

"Are those stars?" she whispered.

Prescott shook his head. Mr. Billings and Jack stopped rowing and also looked to the horizon. A small gasp escaped the lieutenant's lips.

"Then what?" Ana asked, irritated to be the only one who seemed to have no idea what was happening.

"Deck lights," Jack said, after some pause.

"What?"

"A ship."

TBC

Very sorry to make you wait a bit longer for this update. For some reason this chappy was difficult to write ... oh well, it's here now. So, please, let me know how you liked it!

Alicia: I agree, poor Gilette would be horrified if he ever found out exactly what went on while Ana occupied his cabin. Can you imagine if he would have walked in instead of Prescott? As for my email, I'm dreadfully sorry that you're having problems, but I cannot send anything to you if you don't give me your whole email address :-) So, let me know and I'll send you something asap!

Valaina Surion: Oh, I think Jack and Ana were planning on much more than a "moment" together! Sorry Prescott interrupted the fun. Thank you Thank you for your vote of confidence. If I ever make this a career, I'll be sure and let all of you know!

Rose of England: I think we all knew Prescott would say the "I'll kill you if you hurt her" line. What kind of overprotective big brother would he be if he didn't!

Freak87: In his current physical state, Pres probably would have had a coronary if he saw more than he did. Poor guy! And, yes, Boothe is back, that's gotta mean trouble. I wonder if this chappy's little twist will give you an even worse feeling?

SylviaD: Plans will backfire, action will ensue, and I will update faster in the future. Promise! Thank you so much for your continued praise of my story. I'm glad you're looking forward to more, and I hope I can keep you guessing.

Cal: Your reviews never fail to make me laugh. I'm glad you think my wazoo is so talented! Now, to address a few things. You wondered how Norry would explain Ana in his cabin, well, technically he doesn't have to. Sure, he's proper to a fault, but he is still Captain, basically God on his ship. So even though an explaination would be proper, he really doesn't have to have one, b/c none of his officers/crew would dare to tattle on their superior officer. As far as weeping for ol' Scotty, yeah, I put him through the ringer last chappy didn't I? I wonder if he was sick cause of his dream, his injuries, or cause of the little twist I threw in this chappy (read the story before the authors note, my dear!) Anyway, thanks ever so much for your faithful novellas!

Angel-In-Hell: Ah yes, the Spanish. Well, at first Jack says that he didn't know Ana spoke Spanish. Then he comments one how hot she looks in her borrowed uniform and tells her she would look even hotter without it (he is a pirate, after all) And the last line he says is something along the lines of "the most perfect breast fits in the palm of a man's hand" Oddly enough, this is actually a Spanish proverb first said by a monk. How the monk would know something like this, I have no idea!

Yuna Flowering: Read the authors note directly previous to yours for translations. To answer your other question "Kindling" is another story I'm working on that is part of this series. However, it's kind of my take on the end of things. It happens probably fifteen years after the movie (give or take). So, if you're interested please check it out.

As always, thanks so much for continuing to review. I hope I never dissappoint!


	18. Distraction

Disclaimer: I don't own anthing from PotC.

**Chapter Eighteen: Distraction**

The moon was just beginning it's ascent to the starry sky when Jack and Billings hauled the rowboat onto the thin strip of beach. Somewhere above, amongst the rocky bluffs, Black Charlie Boothe was laying in wait. Prescott had leapt over the side and was standing knee deep in the water, his eyes fixed on the ship's lights that had gotten much closer in the last half hour. Still standing in the boat, Anamaria too stared at the approaching craft. This island was far off any trade routes, probably the main reason Boothe decided to hide there, what purpose would another vessel have so far off the beaten path? That ship could only be in the area because Black Charlie was here. Friend or foe, Anamaria could not tell from such a distance, but she could not quell the sense of foreboding caused by the second ship's appearance. A shrill whistle sounded from the _Interceptor._

"What was that?" Ana asked

"Beat to quarters," Prescott answered absently. "_Interceptor's _spotted her."

Anxiety pricked at the lady's heart. "Does that mean it's an enemy ship?"

"Of course, can't you see her colors from here?" her brother snapped. Ana thought she heard Jack snicker behind her and scowled in his general direction. Prescott rolled his eyes. When it came to matters nautical, Ana always asked questions that Prescott thought should be completely obvious. She'd seen his blue eyes roll hundreds of times as he explained some menial Naval procedure to her. In the past, he'd teased her, but tonight something was different. Tonight, he wasn't amused by her lack of knowledge concerning how one ship of war reacts to seeing another. Something was different, and had been ever since Prescott had seen her with Jack. Shaking his head condescendingly, Prescott finally answered, "It means that James will be prepared for her, no matter who she turns out to be."

"There," Ana said, defiant as ever. "Was a simple answer really so difficult?" Now, it was Prescott who scowled. Ana ignored it. "A little help," she said moving to the edge of the boat, expectantly.

Prescott's eyebrow rose sharply. "When a man helps a woman from a carriage or, say, a boat, does he not place his hands on her waist and lift her to the ground?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, of cour – Oh," Ana stopped abruptly. She could feel heat rushing to her cheeks, and she was thankful that the darkness hid the deep flush that she knew was taking over her face. Why didn't she just push Prescott to the ground and kick him while he was down? "Sorry, Pres," she murmured.

Her brother nodded curtly. "Maybe you should ask your boyfriend." Billings, who had been silently watching from the sand, shot a questioning glance in Jack's direction. The pirate Captain pretended not to notice.

If it was possible, her cheeks colored even more. Her boyfriend, of all the … She made a face at Prescott. Damn if he wasn't infuriating. She turned to face Jack, who was standing on the beach, arms crossed wearing a particularly irksome grin. "Well?" she said.

"Wha' do ye need 'elp for? You're wearin' pants, darling," he said. "Jus' jump." Jack shifted his weight to one leg and quirked an eyebrow, very satisfied with himself.

Scoundrel. Ana stifled the urge to pout, for that would only make this situation worse. She was wearing pants, so what? She was still a lady. Carefully finding her footing, she made her way to the front of the rowboat, so that she could leap down to the sand instead of two feet of water. Jump. Honestly. One would think that even a pirate would show the common courtesy of helping a lady from a craft. Placing one foot on the edge of the boat, she made every move to jump. Unfortunately, fate was against her. Not quite leaping high enough, her back toe caught on the edge propelling her face first to the sandy shore. Just in time, she planted her palms on the ground, barely saving her from taking a bite out of the beach. "Damn," she swore, entirely too loud for a lady.

Prescott, who must have made his way to the shore, erupted in a fit of laughter before quickly clapping his hand over his mouth. Lifting her head, Ana glared up at Jack, who, of course, was still smiling. He offered his hand, and pulled her to her feet. "Has anyone ever tol' ye that you're very graceful?" he said, obviously suppressing his own laughter.

Brushing the sand from her hands, Ana shot fiery arrows from her eyes straight towards the pirate's skull. "As a matter of fact, they have," she insisted, haughtily.

"You've been lied to, love."

The men on Norrington's ship probably heard the sound of Ana's palm connecting with Jack's grinning face. Leaving the pirate to rub his reddening cheek, Ana stalked past her still smirking eldest brother and a completely dumbfounded lieutenant.

"She's all yours, Jack," she heard Prescott say.

Quick as lightning, the lady spun around and slapped the smug grin straight off of her big brother's lips. If Prescott thought that after not speaking to her for three quarters of an hour, he now had the right to tease her mercilessly, well he had another thing coming. She was ready to deck him a second time, but this time he caught her by the wrist. "Cease fire, Annie," he scolded. "We do not have time for this."

Pulling her arm from Prescott's grasp, Ana glared at him in silence. She wanted to yell, and stomp her feet. She was fighting mad and didn't know to whom she wished to direct her anger. She could hit Jack until his face was bruised and bloodied, but she could not change what had happened. She could not turn back time and tell the pirate to take his beautiful Spanish-speaking lips out of her cabin. Neither could she erase the scene from her big brother's memory. She could not escape the look in Prescott's eyes, cold, sad, and disappointed. She could scream at him, tell him to bloody learn how to knock, or that she was a grown woman, capable of managing her own liaisons. But, nothing would change. She was angry alright, and the only one deserving of that anger would stare back at her from a mirror. Jack had not bullied his way into her cabin, forced her down to the bed, and ripped her clothes from her body. No, she had let him seduce her. Prescott had not been prowling the corridors, trying to catch the pirate and the lady unawares. Concern for Jack's safety had brought Prescott to her quarters. If she did not want her brother to find out what she and Jack were doing, then she should have made sure that the pirate bolted the damn door.

Letting out a breath, Ana tried to unclench her jaw. Prescott was not asking her to calm down and listen to him. He was telling her that if she did not, she would be responsible for compromising their whole objective. Maybe he was acting a bit callous, but more than anyone, his life was on the line. If Prescott didn't orchestrate some fantastic escape, he would be forced to keep an appointment with the hangman. And, whether or not he managed an escape, her brother was going to have to face the man who had tortured him, the man responsible for his lost limb. So, he was a bit tense. Could she blame him?

Ana took another breath. She was through acting like a child. She nodded to Prescott, and mouthed the word "Sorry."

Her brother turned to Jack. "Well, it's not a huge island, but I think the two of you should get started," he said. Jack glance to Ana, and nodded his agreement. Prescott, his back to his sister, moved closer to the pirate Captain, and said something too quiet for Ana to hear. Jack stared meaningfully at Prescott, but did not appear to say anything. "Mr. Billings and I will stay here and keep an eye on that ship, for the moment," Prescott said aloud. "See if she's friendly or … not."

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"Mr. Gillette, hands to quarters if you please. Clear for action." Captain Norrington stood rigidly on deck as his ship instantly came to life with over one hundred souls rushing to their posts. Below his feet, the furniture in his cabin was being cast aside so the two eighteen pounders concealed there could be run out. Powder monkeys were scurrying around the 'tween decks, getting charges for those guns. Topmen were racing towards the heavens to take in another reef. Doctor Brendwhite was preparing the surgery should they sail to battle.

With the moon still so low in the night sky, no one had been able to make out the approaching vessel. Only the few lights illuminating the deck could be clearly seen from this distance. James, though he would not convey his anxiety to his men, had an uneasy feeling about the ship's sudden appearance. This area was out of the way and not well documented, making it a perfect haven for pirates and other criminals. He could be watching the advance of Black Charlie Boothe's aid, or that of any of the hundreds of other pirates who made berth among these islands.

"Beat to quarters, Sir," Mr. Gillette reported once the activity on board had ceased.

"Very good," Norrington responded. "Go to your cabin, if you please. Warn the lady to stay there."

Gillette touched his hat. "Aye, Sir," he replied. He was duty bound to follow his Captain's orders, but the young lieutenant, clearly, did not approve of James' sparing a second thought for a stowaway's well-being.

"Deck, there," a cry came from aloft. "She's one of ours, Sir."

The glass was instantly at Norrington's eye. Bringing the vessel into focus, James could just make out the blue and gold paint of the English Navy. He breathed a sigh of relief, before his mind went to the task of figuring which of His Majesty's ships would be patrolling these waters. With this new information, he could have dismissed the hands. Another British ship posed no threat, but Norrington made no move to let the men return to their hammocks. James pictured in his head _HMS Loyalty_. He suspected that Prescott would have, at the very least, painted his ship so that she was not the spitting image of a vessel taken from Kingston harbor over two years ago, but he could not be certain. Perhaps his friend turned pirate used _Loyalty's_ unthreatening appearance to lull merchant ships into a false sense of security. Perhaps something of that nature was happening right now. Norrington could dismiss the crew just in time to receive a full broadside from a triumphant buccaneer. The hands waited by their guns, all staring at their Captain for orders. He gave none. They would wait, until he was absolutely certain who they were meeting this night.

"Sir," Gillette reappeared at James' side. "She isn't there, Sir."

The telescope snapped shut. Norrington glared at his subordinate. "She isn't." he said, not really questioning Gillette. His eyes went to the tiny island in the distance. A thin smile colored his face. He had not expected Prescott to take Annie ashore with him, but learning of the lady's absence, James couldn't say he was all that surprised. "Alright, Prescott," he whispered. "What are you up to?"

"Deck," the topman cried again. "It's the _Dauntless_, Sir."

James' attention was immediately set on the coming ship. "Mr. Gillette, get those guns in," he directed. Again he trained the glass on _Dauntless_, which wasn't due to arrive for another few days, at least. Why was Delaney so early? Once again, his eyes drifted to the island and he wondered if somehow, someway, Prescott Tarret was behind all of this.

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The island on which Charles Boothe was hiding was not much more than a solid mount of stone surrounded by a thin, rocky beach. Sparse trees held on for their dear lives, growing out of fissures that marred the stone's surface. Various cliffs and outcroppings dotted the hilly landscape, but the spots of level ground were entirely too far and few between. Jack was standing on one such ledge, offering his hand to the lady who had been climbing behind him. Taking his assistance, Anamaria let the pirate haul her up to the jagged ridge on which he was perched. The pirate lowered himself to his knees and crept towards the edge of the rocky cliff. Ana followed suit. From this vantage, she could see the ship's boat on the beach below and the _Interceptor_ bobbing in the water some ways out. She could also see the second ship much more clearly.

"That's _Dauntless_," she said, somewhat shocked by Delaney's arrival on the scene. Jack nodded wordlessly. "I thought Shane had to wait for the fleet to be ready. Isn't that why he sent _Interceptor_ ahead?"

"Well, love, ye would know the Admiral's mind better than I," the pirate quipped, jealousy dying his words a faint shade of green.

"Two years was a long time, Jack," Ana answered. "I had to amuse myself somehow." Jack's dark eyes turned to the lady. Ana smiled beguilingly. "Though I can assure you, Admiral Delaney never took a bath in my house."

"Just as well. I don't think he'd 'ave had the stamina for it."

Lusty memories instantly danced in front of Ana's eyes. She saw Jack's body, naked and dripping wet. She felt the steam hanging heavy in the air, his hands on her thighs, and his lips on her breasts. Somewhere in the rational part of her mind, Anamaria knew this was neither the time nor the place for these thoughts, but the pirate's jealous comment had ignited the much ignored flame deep within her heart. She wanted Jack to be envious of Shane and whatever he and she might have shared. Ana was delighted that Jack seemed to regret leaving her to her own devices for two years. In the bathing chamber, Ana had reveled in the desire in the pirate's face, in the impropriety of their union. Teasing him as she stripped off her clothes, something she never would have dreamed of doing only a few short years ago, was exciting and invigorating. She stared into his eyes, black as the sky above, peering inside of the man who had taken her on the floor in her house. She enjoyed the lewd way that his eyes traveled over every inch of her body, lingering in the most interesting spots. Reaching out, she caressed his clean shaven cheek with her hand, running her thump over the soft skin of his lips.

Ana did not know the pirate Captain. She did not know how Jack Sparrow had lived, where he had been born, or even his real name. She had no idea how he spent his time away from her, or with whom he spent it. She did know that after this misadventure ended, he may very well sail away again and be gone for even longer. But, this time, he wasn't going to sail off without looking back. Tracing the line of his lips with her thumb, Ana laughed quietly. No, this time, she was going to give him something to remember her by, and if he still decided to leave, at least she will have given him a reason to regret their parting.

Jack's handsome visage slipped into his characteristic Cheshire grin. He seemed to read Ana's thoughts, to know exactly what she had in mind to do right here beneath the stars. He put his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her to him, their mouths colliding in a deep, ardent kiss. A kiss full of anxiety, urgency, and desire. Coming closer still, Jack turned the lady to her back. His eyes were closed. His tongue was in her mouth. His scent filled her senses. Ana's hands slipped beneath his arms and clutched at his back, inviting him to cover her as he had in the bathing chamber. She gasped into his open mouth as the pirate's hand found it's way to the crotch of her borrowed pants. The material was already moist with her aching anticipation. Rubbing her with his palm, the pirate continued kissing her. Sucking in a breath, Ana's mind clouded with remembered passion, with memories of his body writhing against hers. Biting her lip and sucking on the tip of her tongue, Jack quickly and deftly unfastened the ties of her breeches.

Frantically, Ana's hands clawed at Jack's shirt, un-tucking the silky fabric. She needed to feel the heat of his skin beneath her fingers. Stroking his back, she returned his kiss with an urgent fervor. In a matter of moments, the pirate had been able to turn her from a confident, controlled woman to a wanting puddle, and she loved it. Spreading her legs as far apart as was humanly possible, Ana silently begged the pirate to touch her. To put his hands on her, his fingers inside of her. To fill the hole that had been cold, and vacant for so long. She didn't care if she appeared needy or unladylike, she just wanted to feel Jack so close again. She wanted to lose herself again in their lovemaking.

Lingering at the waistline of her pants, Jack's fingers caressed the soft skin of her stomach. Inching slowly towards the lady's need, he toyed with the soft curls of black hair that guarded her entrance. Ana arched her back, her arms holding Jack's body as near as possible. She couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't stop kissing him. She moaned softly, as the pirate's hand left her skin for a moment. She could hear fabric rustling, and imagined Jack taking off his own breeches. Her hands went to his face, tangling in his hair and holding his mouth against her own.

All at once, Jack's hand was back on her hip and the pirate plunged inside of Ana's body. He drove in deep, and hard, not hesitating. He didn't need to, Ana's body was wet, open, more than ready. Her eyes shot open as Jack filled her, filled every empty place. Groaning, Jack disengaged the kiss and buried his face in the lady's hair. Lifting her hips, Ana rocked in motion with the pirate's thrusts. His breath was coming quicker, and his body was crashing against her harder and faster. "Jack," she moaned, her voice higher and louder than she'd intended.

The pirate's hand swiftly covered her mouth, in an effort to muffle the sounds that Ana couldn't stop making. Jack grunted as the lady's teeth closed around his finger. She was no virginal innocent, unversed in the pleasures brought to a woman by a man. But, Jack touched her in places that had never been touched. He made her lose control so utterly that she wanted to stay lost forever. Harder, faster, again and again the pirate plunged himself farther into Ana's body. Her hips rose to meet each push. She bit down harder on his hand, as she finally exploded beneath the force of Jack's onslaught. The pirate pressed in a few more times, his knees shaking unsteadily. "Ah, Ana," he grunted as he climaxed. His whole frame shuddered and convulsed as he emptied himself inside of his lady. Taking his hand from her mouth, he collapsed on top of her.

Gazing up at the thousands of stars that had witness the pirate take his lady, Ana could not help but smile like a virgin wife going to bed with her husband for the first time. Jack's body shivered as he tried to catch his breath. Ana wrapped her arms around his shoulders, protectively, and stroked his long, velvety hair. If not for the rough stone beneath her back, she could have forgotten about Black Charlie Boothe and the threat he posed. She could have forgotten everything but the man in her arms. Sighing quietly, realization dawned in Ana's heart, in her head. She had fallen completely, and hopelessly, in love with Jack Sparrow. "You've never called me 'Ana' before," she mused softly.

"Aye?" Jack mumbled, his voice stifled by Ana's hair.

"You haven't. You've called me 'Anamaria' and 'darling' and 'love,' but never just 'Ana."

"Sorry," he said, finally managing to roll off of the lady. Lying on his back, he pulled his breeches up, covering himself.

"Don't be," she answered, re-lacing her own ties. "I liked it." Jack sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, and Ana scooted up behind him. Pulling off the ribbon that had held his pigtail, she ran her fingers through his hair, fixing the damage she'd done. Tying the Navy ribbon in a bow, she gently kissed the back of his neck. "Do you make up nicknames for all of the women you take to bed?" she said, only half teasing.

The pirate Captain laughed, turning to face Ana. "Don't you think we'd better get back t' what we were supposed t' be doin?" Rising to his feet, Jack took a few steps away.

"Some day, Captain Sparrow," Ana followed. "I'll trick you into answering a direct question."

Jack stopped. With a half his mouth turned into a tentative smile, he brushed his hand across Ana's face. "Some day, love, I may let ye."

The lady smiled broadly. It wasn't much. He hadn't promised to love, honor and serve her until death did they part, but he'd made a promise just the same. Without using words to that effect, Jack had told her that he wanted to trust her, that he wanted her to stick around. The pirate had a story to tell, secrets kept from everyone, and he wanted to tell Ana. And, she wanted to know, everything about the man who had made her feel so completely alive. Ana frowned slightly, knowing that she had to return to the real world and the danger at hand. "What are we supposed to be doing?" she asked.

"Findin' old Black Charlie," Jack replied, as he began picking his way to the opposite side of their ridge.

"What?" Ana was caught a bit off guard. "We're actually looking for that beast?" Jack nodded. "Not to be critical of the plan, whatever it may be, but wouldn't Prescott have been a better partner for pirate hunting?"

Coming to the other edge of the cliff, Jack shook his head. "Na, ol' Scotty isn't as prone to … distraction," he said, shooting a wicked glance back at the lady. "Sides, 'e's the bait," he said, as he peered over the outcropping to the water on the opposite side of the island.

"Bait?"

"Aye. We're goin' t' find Black Charlie, and we're gonna tell 'im that we're willing t' turn Scotty over in return for safe passage – "

Anamaria did not let Jack finish. "There is no way I'm going to let that bastard hurt Prescott anymore – "

"Yes, love," the pirate Captain held up his hands defensively. "It's only gonna look like we're – "

"I don't care what it looks like. That monster tortured my brother, made him a cripple, and I'm not going to stand by and let anything else happen to Pres."

Jack's brow rose, and he rolled his eyes in a manner that reminded Ana of her brother. Crossing his arms, the pirate acted as though he were waiting patiently for something to happen.

"Well?"

"Oh, are ye finished, love?" Ana chose not to dignify that question with any sort of an answer. "I think I'm startin' t' understand why Scotty didn't tell ye."

"Are you now?" Ana said sardonically.

The idiot only winked. "Wha' I was trying t' say was we're not really going to go through with it. Scotty'll tell the ever competent Captain Norrington what's going on, and he an' the marines'll be ready t' leap from the bushes an grab the villain." Jack paused, gesturing grandly to the water below, where a familiar ship lay at anchor. "Meanwhile, ye and I'll be makin' _Loyalty_ ready t' sail, so that when Scotty slips away in the commotion we can be on our way before Norrington knows what hit 'im."

Moving to stand beside Jack, Ana had to admit the plan sounded feasible. Only one aspect worried her, this plan seemed entirely too simple. Not at all like a scheme her brother would come up with. "So, is he down there, on _Loyalty_?" Ana asked, trying to banish her trepidation.

"I'd imagine."

"So, what do we do? Barge in, guns blazing?"

"No guns."

"Fine, swords blazing."

"None o' those either."

Ana placed her hands on her hips. "You mean to tell me, we're going to confront Black Charlie Boothe without any weapons?" Jack nodded. "No, I can't believe it. You have nothing?"

"Nothin, love. Helpless as the day I was born." Jack spread his arms out to illustrate the fact.

"Oh, I'd say you've a few tricks up your … sleeve, that an innocent babe knows nothing about."

The pirate Captain grinned widely. "Count on it."

TBC

Well, I updated much quicker this time. No doubt, I was inspired to write quickly by all of your kind review, so please please keep them coming! And to everyone who complained about Prescott interrupting Jack and Ana in her cabin entirely too soon ... well, you're welcome!

Rose of England: I'm so happy to hear that my latest twist has kept you interested, but you've got to know I'm not going to tell you if Pres will or won't betray Jack. You'll just have to wait and see. And, as for feeling sorry for Norry, I agree with you wholeheartedly. I think James really wants to believe that this time Prescott has finally told him the whole truth, but in the back of his mind he knows that Prescott's got something up hissleeve. He's been a bit naive in the past, but I think he's starting to wise up.

SylviaD: Prescott has been very busy indeed, making his plans. I view Pres as someone who really tries to cover all of the bases. He doesn't really like surprises, but if he runs into any, well, he has a plan B, and a plan C, and probably a plan D. Prescott's no genius, but he tries to stay prepared, and he is able to "read" people very well, and manipulate them if need be. I'm not going to tell you what his plans really are yet, but I hope I can keep you interested and maybe even keep you guessing!

Angel-In-Hell: So the Spanish surprised you? Well, come on, Jack is a pirate and I figured as soon as he realized that Ana didn't really know the language, he would take the first opportunity to say something naughty!

Cal: Well, my dear, I'm eternally grateful that you were willing to suffer through the Delaney parts of my story! Yes, you really do make sacrifices for me, don't you? As for hearing "It's good to be King" during the Norry section, well,yeah it is. That's one of the things that really interests me about the Navy at this period in time. Aboard his ship, a Captain really is like God, in that he can run things however the hell he wants. The officers and the crew don't really have the ability to speak up against him unless something really startling happens (ie the Captain goes nuts and just randomly shoots people) and even then, if the Captain can talk around in circles and justify his actions, then whoever complained could be charged with mutiny. That's one heck of a power trip! And, I'm very glad that Prescott's balls impressed you (wink) Oh, and since you apparently always read my notes before my story, might I suggest having a glass of ice water at the ready cause this bit is definitely rated R!

Yuna-Flowering: Quit threatening the author! Prescott tells me what he intends to do, and I just write it! Prescott's a tricky bugger, and I hope to keep you all guessing what he actually intends to do. You may be pissed with him, but I hope you'll enjoy the story no matter how he acts.

Alicia: Yeah, Scotty took center stage for a little while, but I gave you some quality Jack/Ana time in this chappy! Prescott is just so much fun to write, because he is such a "double-dealing tosser." (I like that, I may borrow it sometime, if you don't mind.) He's just made enough plans, and backup plans to keep everyone on their toes. So, your seeing the Shane/Norry similarities, eh? Well, they're definitely there to be seen, but there are/will be some key differences as well. I'm interested to know what you see as the parallels between Ana and Lizzie, besides the obvious rich aristocrate who really wants to be a pirate thing. Lastly, I got your sketches and I loved them! Your attention to detail in the clothes was amazing. If you do anymore, please send them my way.

Freak87: I agree, Shane's reasoning about Ana running to him as soon as Jack is dead is a bit faulty, but he is a man who's fallen for a rather beguiling woman and he wants to believe that she could love him back. The phrase "Reason's got nothing to do with it" comes to mind! As for Prescott, I'm happy to hear that all his scheming and double talking has you a bit worried (not that I want to cause any anxiety), but I'm glad the twists have kept you guessing. I hope I do not disappoint.

Thanks to all of you for leaving me your feedback. I love hearing from all of you!


	19. Unpredictable Allies

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from PotC.

Chapter Nineteen:

"Delaney," Prescott said quietly, as he stared out to sea, at the ship approaching the _Interceptor_. The former officer shook his head, irritated by his discovery. If his plan was to have any hope of success, someone involved would have to do what he had asked them to do. Stay out of sight, until morning. Was that truly so hard? "Flagship," he announced louder, in case the lieutenant standing next to him hadn't already drawn the same conclusion.

Billings nodded. "Does that mean the ship is friendly, or … not?" the younger man smiled at the pirate.

Prescott laughed under his breath. For a lieutenant, Mr. Billings was quite perceptive. Truth be told, Prescott did not know what Delaney's arrival meant. The man simply could not be so incompetent to have misinterpreted the pirate's intentions. He had managed to make Admiral, after all. By the same token, a man who managed to attain such a rank could be no stranger to promising one thing and doing another. Was he being double-crossed? Bringing his hand to his chest, Prescott reassured himself that the privateer's commission was still in his pocket. He had gone over that piece of paper with a fine toothed comb. If anything had been incorrect, Prescott would have spotted it. Nothing had been in error, Prescott Tarret, Captain of _Loyalty_, was legally a privateer working in tangent with English authorities. So, why would Delaney wait until now to try to give the clever pirate the slip? How much easier to give him faulty commission papers?

Prescott shook his head, and could have laughed a second time. Admiral Delaney wasn't trying to stab him in the back. The man had been sincere when agreeing to go along with the pirate's scheme. If he hadn't been, Prescott would have detected Delaney's deception in an instant. A capable liar like Prescott could always see through another man's lies. Grinning, he turned away from the dark water. The Admiral was most likely getting cold feet and feeling the sudden need to keep an eye on Prescott. Too bad, he was too late.

"How can he be here?" Billings was asking. "He ordered _Interceptor_ out after Boothe because the fleet wouldn't be ready in time. We carried full sail for the better part of the day. The only way he could be so close behind was if …" the lieutenant trailed off, seeming to answer his own query.

"If _Dauntless_ had been ready to embark and left right after us," Prescott finished the thought. Retreating to the sparse tree line on the edge of the island's narrow beach, Prescott sank down to the sand. He leaned his exhausted body against the trunk of a tree, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Since escaping Boothe's hellish custody, his sleep had been haunted by dreams and memories and could hardly be called restful. His arm, or lack thereof, ached, somehow. How in the name of heaven was he going to pull this off?

"Why would he do that?" Billings said, still standing, watching the two ships in the distance. "Why make us believe we were alone in Boothe's pursuit?"

Simple. Because when Black Charlie Boothe looked out to the ocean, he was only supposed to see one ship. Then, he would believe it when Prescott told him that the Royal Navy was not going to be a problem. "I don't know," Prescott lied, trying to hide his inner fuming. He honestly wondered why he even bothered to make plans anymore. Between Delaney, Norrington, Jack and Annie, too many things were bound to go wrong. Bringing his hand to rub his throbbing shoulder, Prescott grimaced slightly. The barely healed wound burned and itched beneath the bandages. He wondered if it would ever feel normal again.

The lieutenant came to sit beside Prescott, though his eyes were still glued on _Interceptor _and_ Dauntless. _"What if the Admiral discovered that you and Captain Sparrow were aboard?" he said.

Prescott's eyebrow rose as he regarded Billings. "Captain who?" he said.

Bowing his head, the lieutenant appeared somewhat embarrassed. If the stars had lent more light, Prescott would have seen color in Billings' cheeks. "I once watched you dive into the sea to save Sparrow's life," he explained softly. "A night full of faces I won't soon forget."

The pirate smiled, remembering the night of which Billings spoke. "You knew from the first?" The lieutenant nodded. "And you didn't deem it necessary to report your findings to your Captain? That could quite easily be construed as mutiny, you know."

"When I was a boy," Billings started, after a long pause. "The Naval Gazette printed a story about a merchant who had been taken captive by pirates, after they had destroyed his ship and killed his crew. He'd been keelhauled and had both of his ears cut off before the pirates put him ashore on some island and left him to bleed or starve to death, whichever was to come first. A Navy ship happened by, and the man managed to signal to her somehow. The Captain of that ship took the man aboard and vowed justice on the pirates who'd tortured him. Days out of his way the Captain sailed just to keep his promise. When they found the pirate, the Captain brought justice to the fiend, himself. I enlisted after reading that account."

Still holding his shoulder, trying to blot out the pain, Prescott rolled his eyes before fixing them on the lieutenant. "Mr. Billings, I wouldn't have taken you for such a star-chasing dreamer," he said, his tone light, but scolding.

"The Captain was you," Billings said.

Prescott sighed. "That man greatly overstated my role in his recovery," Prescott explained." I was in pursuit of those pirates anyway. I made no solemn vow. I did not go days out of my way, and there were no swashbuckling heroics."

"The merchant you rescued was my father," the lieutenant explained, his voice stanch. "He was not given to exaggeration."

"So, you kept my secret from Captain Norrington because you think I'm some sort of hero?" Prescott commented bitterly. How many young men had joined His Majesty's cause and went to their deaths because of fantastical stories printed in the Gazette, because of valiant deeds that he may or may not have done? How many times did he have to listen to the same story from young officers like Billings?

The lieutenant pulled off his wig, and ran his hand through short, sandy hair. "I am the oldest of five children," he said. "I kept your secret because I would not be responsible for hanging the man who gave my brother and sisters the chance to know their father."

"And how many children wait at home for fathers that will never return, because they'd gone off to follow heroes written about in the bloody Gazette? How many fathers, sons, or … brothers have gone to their death believing in sensational fairytales?" How many brothers? Prescott repeated the question in his head. His own younger brother had joined the Navy to follow in Prescott's footsteps. His own brother had died in agony on the deck of a ship still clinging to a childish dream. How many more years could Findley have lived if he'd known even half of the truth behind his big brother's legend?

Pressing his lips together, Billings lowered his head slightly. "Sorry, Sir," he said. "I didn't mean to offend, but you saved my father's life. You are a hero, whether or not the story printed in the papers was a little embellished."

"And what about the ordinary seaman, Mr. Billings," Prescott went on, not quite sure why he felt the need to debate the definition of heroism with the lieutenant on this of all nights. Perhaps he got some perverse pleasure from playing devil's advocate, or, maybe, he was just cranky. "What about the man pressed into the service, flogged for every errant word, who's blown to bits by enemy fire and dies as penniless as he was born? Is he any less of a hero, simply because his name is never written down by the fine men of the Naval Gazette?"

"That depends, Sir."

"On what, and, for God's sake, don't call me Sir," he ordered.

The lieutenant smirked. "Shall I call you Scotty, like your distant Spanish cousin?"

Glaring at Billings, Prescott said, "Not if you want to live long enough to answer my question."

"Well, it depends on the sailor's willingness to perform his duty," Billings began tentatively, clearly uncertain of what answer the pirate was fishing for. "If he goes into battle with good grace, follows orders, and is prepared to lay down his life for his country and his fellow crewmates, then he is no less a hero."

"And, if he does not?" Prescott pushed.

"There is nothing heroic about doing what one is forced to do. Heroism is going beyond what one is expected to do."

"And you think I've done that?"

Billings raised his brow, shocked that there was any question concerning the former officer's actions. "My father is alive because of you. Admiral Fornin is alive because of you. Jack Sparrow is alive because of you – "

"Some would say that fact alone makes me Britain's enemy, not her champion."

The lieutenant merely shrugged and went back to staring out at the two ships anchored off shore. _Interceptor_'s jolly boat was pulling for the flagship. Captain Norrington, no doubt, was on his way to see what Delaney was up to. James Norrington was a man who deserved the Gazette's accolades. He fought England's enemies out of respect for his duty, in a valiant effort to protect his countrymen.

Prescott clearly remembered saving the man that Billings said was his father. The pirate who'd tortured the merchant had been one of the pirates involved in the fateful attack when he was a lieutenant on _Dauntless_. That pirate, or one of his crew, had fired a shot at Fornin, the shot that Prescott had taken. Because of that man and his band of brigands, Prescott had been laid up for weeks, facing an agonizingly slow recovery. Once healed, he came home and had to read about the dashing Lieutenant Tarret, a fictional character created by the Gazette that Prescott had spent his life answering to. As soon as he'd been named Post Captain, he'd gone out after that buccaneer, driven by revenge, not duty. He had attacked the pirate captain and cut the other man down to satisfy a personal grudge, not to avenge some merchant. But, the truth of his action didn't make such a fine headline for the Gazette.

If the Naval Gazette published the real facts behind the finest Captains in His Majesty's Navy, not nearly as many wonderstruck young boys would run off to join such an organization. If the greed and the lies were revealed, then the fallible men that protected England would hardly be hoisted up to pedestals and worshiped as gods among men. No, if the Gazette published the truth, then the civilized people of Britain's colonies would know that the officers in the Royal Navy were little better than pirates, themselves.

"I've a bad feeling about this," Billings said, at last. "If the Admiral was to be following right behind us, then why not tell the Captain?" Rising to his feet, the lieutenant rested his hand on his cutlass. "I've a feeling we should have brought arms for yourself, and your … cousin."

Prescott was unsure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the irony of Billings' words. "Well, I could've used one, certainly, but Jack's still got two," he commented wryly, his eyes suddenly drawn to the younger man's weapon. Billings spun around and offered a tirade of apologies, but Prescott's concentration was elsewhere. The lieutenant's sword rested on his right hip, so it could be drawn with his left hand! Half of Prescott's mouth turned up into a smile. Perhaps it was true that the Almighty worked in mysterious ways. Standing up, he moved beside Billings. "Are you left-handed?" he asked, out of the blue.

Billings furrowed his brow. "I am, yes. Why?"

"Hmm," Prescott replied, bending his elbow and bringing it down hard across the side of the lieutenant's face. Billings' hit the sand with a muffled thump.

88888

"What's he doing?" Anamaria asked, ducking next to Jack behind one of the few scrub bushes that lined the beach. The pirate's eyes were narrowed, intently following the path of the rowboat that was leaving _Loyalty _and coming ever closer to shore. "Why leave the safety of the ship?"

Not turning to face the woman, Jack whispered, "Doesn't know anyone's on the island, yet. Thinks e's safe."

"We have no weapons," Ana said. "He is safe."

The pirate did not respond to the lady's sardonic assessment of the situation. She hadn't meant her words to sound so harsh, but she hadn't expected to be so damned frightened at the sight of Black Charlie. The dark night obscured the vile man's face, but just the glimpse of his silhouette sent terror coursing though Ana's veins. She had seen her big brother injured before, but none of his previous maladies could compare to what he endured at the hands of Charles Boothe. She had certainly never seen Prescott reduced to tears when he recalled any tragedy he lived through. He hadn't even cried at Findley's funeral, but in the hospital bed, swathed in bandages, he had sobbed on her shoulder. Ana shuddered, acutely dreading the man that could cause Prescott so much pain. Thankfully, the memories of her brother's missing arm had angered her enough to temper some of that fear. By the time Boothe was pulling his craft onto the sand, Ana's vigilant eyes were burning with hatred. "Should we follow the bastard?" she asked, as he headed for the tree line.

Jack nodded. "Stay back a bit, luv," he whispered. "Don't want 'im to suspect e's being followed."

Ana scowled at the subtle reprimand, but did as she was asked. Watching the pirate as he shadowed Boothe, Ana had to admit that Jack was much better suited to keeping silent, and out of sight than she would have suspected, given his usual drunken boisterousness. He moved with an easy, fox like grace that was beautiful to behold. Mesmerized by the pirate, Ana had to suppress a startled cry when he stopped suddenly. When she inched up to his side, behind a sizable bolder, he gestured to the dark mouth of a cave some fifteen yards ahead.

They exchanged glances. "Why does there always have t' be a cave," Jack drolled.

Ana shrugged. "What do you think he's doing in there?"

"Doesn't matter," Jack answered, standing up and slipping away from the large rock they were concealed behind. "Long as e's occupied." Ana's inquisitive visage must have prodded the pirate into offering further explanation. "Said yourself, luv, we've no weapons t' speak of. Meetin' with Boothe now is folly. So," Jack's hands began their characteristic dance as he walked away. "We jus' go back t' the beach, out t' _Loyalty_, where there are plenty o' weapons, and we wait. Thus, takin' him completely by surprise."

Nodding her agreement, Ana followed the wily pirate, trying not to look so taken aback by the fact that Jack could come up with a perfectly satisfactory plan. She began to imagine him laying out battle tactics with Prescott. Put those two men together, and who knew what they could concoct. She had no doubt that should any other pirate encounter the _Loyalty_, that pirate would never again make the same mistake.

"Where ye goin, luv?" Jack's voice interrupted her musing.

"To the boat," she answered.

The pirate Captain shook his head, smiling. "We aren't going t' be able t' surprise 'im, if we've taken 'is boat."

The lady could feel her upper lip contorting into a disgusted grimace. "How are we to get out there, then?" she asked, hoping her own assumptions would be wrong.

"We swim," Jack's smile inexplicably grew wider. "No trouble, since we're both wearin' breeches."

Curse the day she ever decided that disguising herself as a man to get aboard Norrington's ship was a good idea. Maybe she should have stuck with lace and skirts, no matter how impractical. Winking, the smug pirate stepped into the water.

"S a bit cold," he commented offhandedly.

If he wouldn't have been thigh deep by this time, Ana would have slapped him. Scowling one final time, she too stepped into the sea. The waters in the West Indies were never really cold, but that didn't stop her from shivering as the water came higher and higher up her legs. A ways ahead, Jack had dove below the surface and was pulling farther and farther away from the lady. Curse these bloody breeches, and curse the day Jack Sparrow told her she'd make a fine pirate. Plugging her nose, Ana plunged into the sea and followed Sparrow to _Loyalty_.

88888

"You made exceptionally fine time, Admiral," Norrington noted, standing in Delaney's cabin, a confused scowl fixed to his face. It was hardly his place to presume to comment on an Admiral's tactics, but he felt affronted by his superior officer's fraudulent behavior. Anyone familiar with the flagship knew that _Dauntless_ could not hope to keep so close to _Interceptor_ unless she had left the harbor on the smaller ships heels. Delaney had sent Norrington out ahead under the pretense that _Dauntless_ would not be ready to sail before the week's end. James had been lied to, and he was extremely unsettled by that fact.

Delaney stood up behind his desk, as the Captain entered his quarters. "I expected you'd be interested to know why I followed so closely."

Norrington nodded tersely. He had nothing to gain from being rude to his commanding officer, but he didn't much care for Delaney at the moment. So, he continued to be rude, despite the warning glance from _Dauntless' _Captain Williams, who was standing, arms crossed, in the corner of the room.

The Admiral smiled the smile used to appease a rambunctious youngster. "You were in a precarious position, carrying Prescott Tarret and Jack Sparrow aboard your ship. I merely felt I should be close at hand, should anything go wrong."

James fought wildly to contain his utter shock as Delaney's words exploded across the cabin. No less startled would he have been if the Admiral had drawn a pistol and shot him where he stood. First of all, Delaney wasn't supposed to have any knowledge about _Interceptor_'s unorthodox passengers. Second, the Tarret's distant Spanish cousin's face flashed in Norrington's mind. Jack Sparrow, for the love of all things holy. How could he have been so blind! "The situation was not beyond my control," James forced himself to answer as though he had anticipated Delaney's words.

"I had no doubt," Delaney bowed his head, in respect to Norrington's capabilities. "With Tarret's commission confirmed, I knew Sparrow would be your only real headache, but one never knows what can happen."

"Commission?" Norrington stammered, not listening to anything else the man was saying.

"Privateer in His Majesty's Navy," Delaney said. "I thought sure he would have told you."

"You made Prescott Tarret a privateer?" James was shocked past any point of proper etiquette, out and out damning Delaney's decision. Williams was totally unable to hide his condemnation.

"I did, yes," the Admiral answered sternly, "And might I suggest you have a care, Captain. You're appallingly near insubordination."

"And you've made a deal with the devil," Norrington spoke before his dutiful mind could stop his renegade mouth. Delaney pursed his lips, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "Forgive me, Sir," James went on, curbing his speech somewhat. "But, you've given a man seeking vengeance full authority to do so. A Captain who's lived his life by the sword, has lost his right arm. What sort of justice will he dole out to the man responsible for crippling him?"

"Captain Norrington," Delaney interrupted. "Black Charlie Boothe is a dangerous criminal escaped from _Vanth_. I do not wish his demise, but he is a vile creature who broke into Miss Tarret's home and threatened her. Besides, prisons are overcrowded anyways. On top of that, your dear Captain Tarret had agreed to turn over Jack Sparrow in payment for his commission. Two notorious pirates out of the way and I'm content to excuse Tarret's methods." The Admiral's words carried a finality which warned that he would listen to no further arguments from his subordinate. "Has Tarret gone ashore to make contact with Boothe?"

Norrington's mind struggled to comprehend the enormity of Prescott's actions. He may indeed make good on his promise to eradicate Boothe, but Prescott could have taken care of Sparrow long before now. Instead, he had forsaken the Admiral's office to protect the well-known pirate. Why betray him now? "He has," James murmured, wishing he could flee from Delaney's cabin and chase after Prescott, himself. "And might I suggest, Sir, that we make haste to track him down and … offer our assistance," he concluded, censoring his words.

"I intend to keep Tarret on a short leash," Delaney said. "But, we've no reason to rush the island. Boothe may slip through our fingers if alerted to our presence on shore."

Resisting the urge to expel a long sigh, Norrington said, "I submit, Sir, that Prescott Tarret is a man of ambition. He looks after himself, Sir. He may have an agenda that you and I know nothing about." Would he have to pound this concept into the Admiral's head with a mallet?

"Captain Norrington, you seem to object to of my decision to make Tarret a privateer," Delaney started. "Was it not you who told me that it was far wiser to make him an ally, than an enemy."

"Indeed, Sir, but he makes quite the unpredictable ally under the best of circumstances."

Captain Williams, silent throughout the confrontation, cleared his throat loudly. The Admiral spared his Captain a glance, indicating that he should speak. "All do respect, Sir," he began. "The Captain was a friend of Tarret's, perhaps he is better qualified to speculate on the privateer's actions." James felt like dropping to his knees and thanking God for allowing this voice of reason. "Tarret seeks personal revenge on Boothe, but, you said yourself, he has no clear motivation for betraying Sparrow."

"Yes?"

"Perhaps it would be prudent, Sir, to put a contingent of marines ashore to assure Sparrow's capture." Sir George shrugged elaborately. "This way, if Tarret had planned a double cross, we will be able to thwart his attempt. If he hwas not, then we merely provide him assistance."

Norrington looked, hopefully, to the Admiral, who nodded his agreement. "Back to the _Interceptor_, then, Captain Norrington," he said. "Unless you wish to take part in the shore action."

"I would, Sir," James answered. Consciously or not, Sir George's words of intercession could have just saved the Navy from a cataclysmic mistake. Thank heavens the man had the Admiral's ear. Norrington shook his head self-depreciatingly as Delaney and Williams began discussing logistics. He'd been a fool to trust Prescott, after all that had transpired. The man had managed to dupe him, yet, again. Long lost cousin? How could he have fallen for that flimsy ruse? James' expression hardened. Whatever Prescott was planning, this time, he would not get away with it.

TBC

I know this update was sort of a long time coming, but I thank you for waiting patiently. I went on vacation over Memorial Day weekend, and wouldn't you know, I completely forgot to take my notebook. So, natually I came up with all sorts of ideas that I had to struggle to remember by the time I got back to my computer. Silly author. I promise such a gross oversight will not happen again.

FearlessFreak: I'm so glad you seemed to really really really enjoy the steamy scene between Ana and Jack. She is a lucky lady indeed, and who wouldn't want to be in her position!

SylviaD: What the hell are Jack and Ana doing? Well, they aren't trying very hard to resist one another, are they? I have a feeling ol' Jack didn't need too much convincing after he was left hanging in Ana's cabin. And as for Prescott betraying Jack, well, you'll just have to wait an see won't you!

Rose of England: No Boothe to walk in on Jack and Ana, I wouldn't be that cruel. They need a little time to themselves, uninterrupted once in a while, don't you think? And I'm glad you appreciate the historical stuff. I think little factoids like that help make a story more real.

Angel-In-Hell: Glad to hear Jack's naughtiness is appreciated. I think that's why we love him so much.

Yuna-Flowering: Don't be worried, it's just that Prescott has a way of getting what he wants, even from me! As far as the suspense, just hang in there, all the waiting will soon pay off.

Cal: Well, Prescott's interaction with his sister were a little rough, but forgivable once Ana started to see things from his perspective. The poor man's under a bit of stress. Besides, you have to figure that the sibs sometimes skip politeness when dealing with each other, b/c there is such a deep love between the two of them. Ana's the only family Prescott has left, and vice versa, so no matter how ugly the fights get, they'll forgive one another eventually. On a totally different note, I hope the smelling salts weren't too far out of reach. Always happy to provide a little mind fritzing scene between our favorite pirates. It may have been a bit gratuitous, but it was needed if only to show how hard Ana has fallen for Jack. She's willing to just let the rest of the world fall away for a few stolen moments with him. Ah, love. I'm sorry these kind of moments are made bittersweet knowing their future, but I have to think that if Ana saw her future and had the chance to do it all again, she would still chose to be with Jack. He screws up, he hurts her, but he does love her. Keep in mind, Ana had the fairytale romance with Chris, and look how that turned out. Jack may be far from perfect, but she can tell that he cares so deeply for her, so a little hardship isn't impossible to endure.

Freak87: Right there on the ground, yes. He is after all Captain Jack Sparrow, and rather hard to resist, and Ana has been a widow for a long lonely time. Also, glad to hear that I've kept you guessing about Prescott. What is he up to?

Thanks so much for all the reviews. Now, I've got to get back to writing!


	20. The Devil's Bargain

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from PotC.

**Chapter Twenty: "The Devil's Bargain"**

By the time Anamaria finally hauled her dripping wet body onto _Loyalty_, she was quite certain that half of the night had been spent struggling up the ropes that hung off the ship's stern. She expected Jack would have tired of waiting for her, as he offered her no assistance because a woman in breeches should have no trouble negotiating a few simple ropes. The man was insufferable. She figured the pirate Captain would be inside the cabin wearing his customary smirk and having already found everything they required, specifically weapons of some sort, so that when Boothe returned they could be ready for him. However, instead, of setting their trap and procuring a few swords or pistols, the pirate was still standing outside of _Loyalty_'s Captain's quarters. His hand was on the doorknob, but he seemed to have frozen mid action. Jack's posture was rigid, tense, and his eyes were fixed somewhere inside of the ship.

Seeing his stance, Ana instantly stilled her own body suspecting the pirate had seen someone or something dangerous in the cabin. However, peering into the ship, Ana could see that wasn't the case. The Captain's quarters were dark and quiet. Boothe was ashore and the few men he'd managed to rally to his cause were up on deck supposedly keeping watch. Nothing was wrong, so why in the hell hadn't Jack gone inside?

"Jack?" she whispered, placing her hand on his forearm. To Ana's surprise, the pirate started at her touch, as though he hadn't known she were there until now. "Is something wrong?" she asked, noting that Jack even now didn't turn to face her.

He did not answer right away. He simply remained still, as still as she'd ever seen him. His breathing was irregular, long and drawn out, like a man engaged in his last few deep breaths before taking some sort of frightening plunge. Ana squeezed Jack's arm. Something was happening, something she clearly did not understand. "She seems … dead," Jack said, at last.

He was referring to the ship, that much Ana could discern without asking for clarification. But, she had no idea how he could deduce the liveliness of a craft built of pitch and timber, though, Prescott too had always spoke of his vessels as though they were living, breathing beings. "I thought you'd be relieved," Ana whispered, not quite knowing how to respond to Jack's declaration, and it was obvious he had no intention of elaborating. "To be back on your ship?"

"She isn't mine," he said wistfully. "She's Scotty's. Always has been." Sighing, Jack opened the cabin door and stepped inside, almost remorsefully.

Ana followed him into Captain's quarters that seemed inexplicably small. She'd been on board _Loyalty_ a number of times before this night, when the ship was still a prominent member of His Majesty's Navy. Before her brother was set to embark, Ana would bring fresh flowers, or some small gift she'd found for him in one of Kingston's shops. Prescott's cabin had never been as cluttered as some, but he was a wealthy man even before he turned pirate and his quarters plainly spoke to his good fortune. Luxuries, some as small as curtains some as extravagant as the deerskin rug that covered the floor even now, set Prescott apart from the more modest Captain's serving King and Country. Her brother had gone after prizes. Enemy ships, used by the French, the Spanish or any number of buccaneers brought a tidy sum to the men able to capture them. Warmth spread through Ana's wet limbs at the familiarity of the room. She remembered the ebon wood desk on which Prescott had spent nearly half a year's wage, and the large painting on the wall that he'd purchased from a starving artist back in England. Despite the fond memories, something was off about this room. "Perhaps it's a silly question," Ana whispered, "But is this cabin _smaller_ than it used to be?"

Jack smiled. He looked as though he'd been reliving his own memories of this cabin. Moving to stand beside one of the side walls, he laid his hand on the ivory painted surface. "Your brother built a wall down the middle of the cabin, split it right in two, so I wouldn't have t' sleep with the men." Ana waited silently, and this time, Jack did elaborate. "I told ye," he said softly. "_Loyalty_'s Scotty's. She sings for 'im," he paused, lowering his head. "E's her Captain, not me."

"But, the men are loyal to you, not my brother," Ana said.

"The men are dead," Jack spat. "So it doesn't much matter who they're loyal to."

Ana fell silent, not so much because she wanted to give Jack space, but because she had no idea what to say. The pirate Captain was upset about something. Granted, considering the events of the past few days, he had much to be upset about. His entire crew had been killed by Black Charlie Boothe, Prescott had been on the verge of death, and, if this fool plan didn't work, he was facing the noose, yet again. In spite of all these things, Ana couldn't help but think that Jack was troubled by something entirely different. He had gone to the far corner of the room and opened an ornate wooden case. Inside were two swords, dueling blades. The twin sabers sat atop green velvet and gleamed brilliantly in the starlight. Jack picked up one and stuck it through a loop in his belt. Turning he handed the other to Ana. Taking it, the lady was pleasantly surprised with how light and almost natural it felt in her hand. "These are beautiful," she said reverently. "They're Prescott's?"

Jack nodded.

Ana smiled slightly. "Did he steal them?" she asked, teasing.

"Not exactly," the pirate answered cryptically. "Earlier this year, Scotty snuck into Port Royal. Some blacksmith's apprentice made the swords at Scotty's, eh, suggestion."

The lady's smile widened at the thought of her brother suggesting a blacksmith make him a pair of sabers. His methods of persuasion could be quite convincing. Her smile, however, quickly vanished. Changing the subject had done nothing to improve Jack's mood. He was oddly quiet, sullen, and Ana had no idea why. He had every right to mourn his crew, hate Boothe, and fear hanging, but his present demeanor didn't seem to have anything to do with those things. He had sounded so strange when he'd said that _Loyalty_ seemed "dead," and even stranger when he'd admitted that she was Prescott's ship. He couldn't possibly be worried that, without a crew to back him, Prescott would be able to take _Loyalty_ away, could he?

Ana found herself thinking about all the stories she'd heard about Captain Jack Sparrow. The tale of his mutinous best friend instantly came to mind. A man named Barbossa had turned the crew against Jack, leaving him broken, and betrayed on some lonely island in the middle of the sea. Did Jack fear history repeating itself? Did he fear Prescott?

"Jack," Ana started, hoping she had guessed correctly and wasn't about to completely embarrass herself. "So what if _Loyalty_ is my brother's ship? You can't think he's going to take her from you."

"What's stopping him," Jack retorted, his voice barely audible.

"He loves you. He wouldn't do that," Ana said.

A dark, black shadow seemed to descend over Jack's eyes. He steely glare could have cut Ana to the bone. "It's been known to happen."

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Leaning with his back against a palm and his arms crossed dourly in front of his chest, James Norrington had never looked more unlike a proper Royal Navy Captain. In his belt, he carried his cutlass and not one but two loaded pistols. He also carried every intention of using one of those weapons to put an end to his friend, Prescott Tarret. As he watched the marines from _Dauntless_ disembark to the beach, he tried to make sense of what had happened. He tried to fathom what could turn a British hero into a pirate.

He watched Admiral Delaney doling out orders in a harsh whisper. Delaney was not an officer of extraordinary ability. He'd seen his share of victory as well as defeat. Duty to King and Country probably was not foremost in his mind as he made each decision in his life. He was certainly no pillar of morality, but James could look at Delaney and know that the Admiral was a Navy man. Duty might not be Delaney's whole life, but it was essential enough that he could never throw it away. James used to look at Prescott and see the same philosophy. He knew there were aspects of Prescott's life that would always be more important than his career, namely Annie, but he never thought something would be so important that Prescott would just walk away from everything he'd ever known.

James stopped mid-thought and shook his head. Had he known? Was that what was truly bothering him, that he'd known all along that Prescott would someday leave?

"Well, Captain Norrington," Williams walked up to the tree line. "Do you think one hundred men will be enough to secure Sparrow and Tarret?"

Sir George was making a joke, but, just beneath the humor, Norrington knew the man was seeking his opinion in earnest. "I hope so," he answered truthfully.

"You have reservations?"

James' brow rose. "Let us just say that stranger things have happened than a man escaping the notice of a hundred marines," he said, recalling a time when Prescott had presumably walked Jack Sparrow out of Fort Arthur with a garrison of 260 and sentries posted. Of course, the official report insisted that Admiral Tarret's disappearance and Sparrow's escape were not related, but, after this night, James knew better. "Did you ever know Prescott?" James asked.

"The man who saved Admiral Fornin's life? Everyone knows Captain Tarret," Williams said. James rolled his eyes, rousing a smile from the older officer. "I've been Captain of the flagship a long time," Sir George went on. "I was set to serve under Tarret, and, I don't mind saying, I was looking forward to the opportunity. He is a man of some reputation, but, personally, no. I never knew him. You did though, if I'm not mistaken."

"I thought so," James said moodily.

"You did," Williams said, his voice decisive. "But, knowing isn't always understanding."

Sir George's words struck a chord somewhere deep inside of James. He had known. He could still remember the last time he'd seen Prescott. He'd still been Admiral Tarret then, but he had not proud of his accomplishment. He'd looked resolute, determined, a little said. He had not been a man facing the pinnacle of his career. James had known that very night that Prescott Tarret was saying "goodbye." He'd known and he'd done nothing to stop it.

Any further self-reproach was interrupted by the Sergeant of the marines signaling down the beach. "Must have found Tarret, convinced him to come back to the _Dauntless_, and turn in Jack Sparrow. Don't you think?" Williams said quietly.

"If only it would be that easy," Norrington answered, as he and Sir George made their way towards the marine. As they drew closer, James could see another man sitting in the sand, his hand to his head. "Billings?" he said. The lieutenant leapt to his feet and saluted his Captain, and Norrington saw the beginnings of a bruise forming around his right eye. He also noticed that the officer's sword was missing from around his waist. "Mr. Billings, who did this? Was it Capt – Mr. Tarret?" he demanded, angrily scolding himself for still referring to Prescott as a Captain. "And where is Sparrow?"

Billings face knit in confusion. "Jack Sparrow?" he said. "I don't understand … Are you quite well, Sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Billings, I'm fine," James replied, exasperated. "Answer the question. Where is everyone?"

The lieutenant brought his hand to his forehead, appearing unsure of how to reply. "I don't quite remember, Sir," he started. "We were all here, myself, Captain Tarret, his cousin, and his sister. Then, Boothe was here, and … next thing I know, Sergeant White is standing over me."

"Boothe?" Delaney said, as he came to stand beside Williams and Norrington. "Are you saying Boothe may have Miss Tarret?"

James heard the panic in the Admiral's voice. No matter what he thought of Delaney, it was clear that he did care for Annie. That, at least, was admirable. "We must commence a search without delay," he suggested.

"Indeed, Captain," Delaney was already headed back to the rest of the marines. Neither man realizing that Billings hadn't actually said one way or the other if Anamaria had been taken by Black Charlie.

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Prescott scowled as he rose to his feet. Easily a quarter of an hour had passed from the time he'd laid down on the ground in a ridiculous effort to buckle Billings' sword belt around his waist until he could finally call his task accomplished. He'd half expected Boothe to come blundering in upon him as he was squirming and struggling in the dirt trying to bind the blasted belt without the benefit of his right hand. He had been humiliated enough with only God watching. He had lost his arm, and now he couldn't even say that he, at least, still had his dignity. Brushing the dirt off of his clothes he scoffed at himself and wondered if Billings would still think him heroic if he'd witnessed how pathetic Prescott had really become.

His frown deepened as he moved towards the mouth of the small cave he'd taken refuge within. He drew the stolen sword with his left hand. The cutlass was not far removed from the one Prescott had lived his life by, but, for the first time, the weapon was heavy and awkward in his grasp. He'd won dozens of sword battles, cut down hundreds of men, and now the simple act of holding a blade was difficult. A snotty nosed midshipman could probably best him in a fight. Angrily, Prescott thrust the blade back in the sheath. It took him three tries to hit the small hole in the top of the scabbard, which only left him angrier. He knew, with absolute certainty, that if his plan should falter and he was forced to cross blades with Boothe, or anyone else, he would lose. He would die on this forgotten pile of rock.

Grunting a laugh, he shook his head. As most English boys, he'd learned to fence when he was quite young. He'd joined the Royal Navy and seen his first battle when he twelve. Men had died, and he had killed them. He had been frightened beyond reason, but the fear had acted like some kind of fuel. He'd fought with strength he did not know he possessed, but what was to help him now Clenching his hand into a fist, he doubted any amount of fear-fueled frenzy would make up for his missing appendage.

Taking a deep breath, the former officer ran his hand over his face. He traced the line of stitches that ran down his left cheek. Charles Boothe had drawn the edge of a dull knife along the line of Prescott's jaw, threatening to peel the skin away from his body starting at his neck. Prescott's mind had been so clouded by pain that he'd believed in the intimidation. He almost would have welcomed it. If the sadistic monster really had taken the flesh from Prescott's body, he never would have lived. He would have died that day, and never had to face Boothe again, as a cripple.

Footsteps outside, drawing closer to the cave in which Prescott was concealed, banished the melancholy thoughts from the former officer's mind. The possibility of his death was very real. So, it had been his entire life since he had first entered the King's Navy. This night need be no different than a thousand others. Again, he drew his borrowed sword, disappointed but not surprised to find that the weapon felt every bit as unwieldy as it had moments earlier. "No different," he mouthed the words silently, as he attempted to banish his fear and his doubt. He squared his shoulders and glared towards the opening of the cave. He could not hope to hold his own in a sword fight, but he was the only person with knowledge of that fact. For once, his reputation as the indomitable and inhumanly brave Captain Tarret could work in his favor. More people than not, had told him that he was an uncommonly crafty liar, a statement that was sometimes complimentary and sometimes not. He would simply fool his adversary into believing he was every bit as proficient with a blade as he'd ever been.

"Mr. Boothe," he greeted as soon as a figure appeared inside of the cave. "Took you rather long enough to get here," he said, careful to keep his voice light and genial and not convey the slightest hint of fear or hatred. Prescott smiled thinly, even though he doubted that Boothe could see the expression as he was groping his way into the pitch black opening in the rock. Charles continued to inch forward until the exposed flesh of his neck came into close contact with the tip of Prescott's sword. "That's close enough for now."

"Tarret?" Boothe's voice was unguarded, surprised. "How did ye know I'd come 'ere?"

"Charles, do you mind if I call you Charles?" Prescott paused, but not long enough for Boothe to state his preference. "Charles, you've been out of the game for quite a long time. Islands with no apparent resources that are far out of the way of patrols and known trade routes are in short supply. You didn't truly think you were the only one who'd ever used this one?" He began walking around Boothe's vulnerable body, trailing the tip of the sword around his neck, as he spoke. His voice became more sing-song as he went on, and he found himself sounding very much like Jack Sparrow. He stopped when he had come full circle, leaving the blade resting atop of Boothe's shoulder hoping that the added support would keep his arm from shaking. The pain had not subsided much at all since James found him aboard Charlie's ship, and Prescott was having a hard time not running Boothe through right here and now.

"Ye've been usin' me island?"

"You're island?" Prescott repeated, doing his best to sound shocked. He was lying, of course. He'd never set foot on this worthless rock before tonight, but he'd been on the run from the English Navy long enough to know what sort of a hideout would protect a criminal from the not so all seeing eyes of sailors and marines. The basic fact of the matter was that, while men like Norrington and Delaney would be more than happy to scour an island like this one day and night until every inch was covered, the marines and seamen that would actually be doing the scouring would not be so thorough. Simple disguising techniques like branches in front of a cave opening would either go completely unnoticed, or the men who noticed them would be too lazy to investigate. Prescott didn't know who first said "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself," but he suspected it was an officer in the British Navy. "I was unaware, though, Boothe's Island does have a certain ring, doesn't it?" He grinned, only barely refraining himself from calling Black Charlie "mate." He really did sound like Sparrow.

"What do ye want?" Boothe questioned impatiently.

"What do I want? Let's see," Prescott wished he had another hand with which to gesture, then he could place his finger on his chin and look like Jack's double. "My right arm would be a nice start, but seeing as I don't think you'll be able to accommodate me – "

"Seem t' be doin' fine wit'out it," Charlie commented.

"Oh, this?" Prescott slid the sword up a bit, causing a thin trickle of Black Charlie's blood to stain the blade. "Well, the odds were in your favor Charles. I understand most people are right-handed. A betting man would have chosen the same."

"Yer left-handed?" Black Charlie was unable to hide his shock. He suddenly appeared much more concerned about the present situation.

Once again, Prescott was lying through his teeth. "I am. Bad luck, Charles," he said, in the same tone he'd have used if a man just lost at a hand of cards. "Be that as it may, my right hand did have its uses, and I was rather attached to it." He almost cringed at the horrible pun. "And, to tell the truth, the manner in which you acquired it was a bit painful." A slight understatement, considering Prescott had wanted to die.

"No less than ye deserved."

Prescott rolled his eyes and lapsed back into Jack's sing song way of speaking. "Right, losing my arm was no less than I deserved for leaving you to rot in prison, which was no less than you deserved for threatening my sister, which was no less than she deserved for being so callous towards you, and we've all gotten no less than we deserved. Which leaves you and I on fairly even ground, I should think." Prescott paused gauging Black Charlie's reaction. If the bastard believed that Prescott considered them even, then he'd believe anything.

The pirate looked as though he were still trying to figure out exactly what Prescott had been saying. "Even?" he said at last. "So, it does."

Prescott smiled a serpent's smile. "So, it does," he hissed. "And since we're one even terms now, Charles. I have a proposition for you."

"What sort o' proposition?" Black Charlie asked, a lewd grin on his face.

Grinning back, Prescott said, "Don't flatter yourself. I merely wish to enter into a mutually beneficial agreement."

"What've ye got in mind?"

This was it. No turning back once he'd closed the devil's deal. "I want my ship and your word that you'll never come near my sister again," he said simply. "In return, I give you safe passage to Tortuga, Trinidad, wherever you wish." Boothe's eyebrows rose, he was interested, but not sold. "I will also deliver into your hands the revenge you seek." The pirate's brow lifted another notch, almost sold. "I'll give you Jack Sparrow, complete with your ruby, and Captain James Norrington."

"Ow are ye gonna do tha?" Charles asked.

"That is precisely what I would like to know," James Norrington's unmistakable voice echoed Boothe's question.

Fast enough to disguise the clumsiness of the maneuver, Prescott spun around taking the sword from Black Charlie's shoulder to a position pretty close to Norrington's heart. Silently, he prayed that James and Boothe would be too distracted to notice the error of his aim. "Right on cue," he said. "You've an actor's timing, James. You can go for your gun … guns," he corrected after seeing the pair of pistols James had brought, "But I'll have you before you can bring them to bear." Norrington fixed his iciest glare on Prescott. He didn't like using James, despite the number of times he had done so. He regretted the rift this night would undoubtedly cause, but Annie's safety was paramount to his relationship with James. "So, Charles, what say you? Shall we go back to the ship and discuss our terms?"

The grin that had vanished from Boothe's upon Norrington's arrival returned at this apparent show of good faith from Prescott. "Aye," he said. "Back to _your_ ship, tha' is."

Prescott felt a twinge in his chest, pretty near to where his heart was supposed to be. It was done. The devil's deal was sealed. "God, forgive me," he whispered.

TBC

Well, I took kind of a long time ... again, getting this posted. So sorry. I did put it up w/o a decent proofread, so please excuse any stupid errors, I just didn't want you all to have to wait any longer.

An-Angel-In-Hell: Well, some secrets are out in the open, but ol' Scotty may have one or two he isn't sharing yet.

SylviaD: I'm glad I have managed to stay unpredictable, that's my plan. At this point all of the characters are definitely operating according to their own plans and so far I've left you in the dark as to what those plans are. I think Norry's motivations became a lot clearer, and you got a tiny little bit of insight into Scotty's, but I've kept him cryptically mysterious as always (I hope that doesn't annoy you too much) Much will be revealed next chappy, so I hope you'll stay tuned!

Rose of England: Delaney has certainly revealed a bit of his own devious, but I gotta say Pres still takes the cake! And just to correct one tiny thing, Jack and Ana are on _Loyalty_ not _Interceptor_. You probably figured that out from this chappy, sorry if there was confusion in the last one.

Freak87: You raise a good point (a few of them actually)but the one I'm talking about in particular is that Delaney doesn't know that Ana's involved yet. Not knowing what the lady with the heart of a pirate is up to may prove to be very dangerous indeed! As far as Prescott's plan being so mucked up, well, yeah, it is, but Pres is the kind of guy who can really roll with the punches. He'll come up with something!

Yuna-Flowering: I also always wondered why Norrington seemed to instantly know Jack in the movie and Jack seemed to already know him. Well, this explains it. As for doing a story thatcovers the movie, I'm thinking that could be what's next for me once I finish up with this. So, I hope that's good news!

Cal: Alright, onto your novel length author's note, I hope I don't make you cry this time! First of all, I have to address Scotty's prowess as a liar anda lie detector. You noted what he would fail to see between Jack and Ana in the future. Well, he doesn't really fail to see what's going on between them, I think he just doesn't look. Prescott, even though he's turned pirate, is a military man. His sister's personal life is enemy territory that he probably has no desire to venture into! As for Pres' discussion with Billings, well he was being a bit cranky. But, he debates his heroics every time they are brought up mostly because he didn't do anything in hopes of receiving praise. He did what he did because that was his job, and a few personal reasons. I may get more in depth into Pres' motivations in some story down the road, but mostly I think he's driven by guilt. He couldn't save his brother, so he's going to be damned if anyone else is hurt when he could have done something about it. Another thing I'm glad you noticed is that Ana could swim. You're right, most upper class women of the time wouldn't be interested in ever learning how to do something like that. I didn't really decide who would've taught her. Pres certainly could have, then again, her mother was a native Jamaican, so propriety wasn't something she'd be overly concerned about either. Just another skill that will someday make her quite a pirate.

Alright, now I'm done. Thanks so much for all of the feedback. I love hearing from all of you!


	21. An Enemy's Eyes

Disclaimer: I do not own anyone or anything from PotC.

**Chapter Twenty-One: "An Enemy's Eyes"**

_It's been known to happen._

Jack's words pounded inside of Ana's mind, refusing to pass and refusing to be silent. The eerily ominous declaration simply repeated itself over and over again as the lady stared back into the pirate's black, fathomless eyes. Staring back, she knew if she just looked long enough and hard enough she would be able to see into the man's very soul. Something was wrong in those depths. He was in turmoil and Ana could see it plain as day.

She had assured him that Prescott loved him and therefore would never betray him. Jack, in turn, had assured her that Barbossa had once loved him, and Barbossa had left him to die alone and afraid on a deserted island. No sooner had this thought crossed Ana's mind then her breath caught in her throat, threatening to choke her. Gazing still into those deep, dark eyes, the lady was nearly blinding by a startling blast of clarity. Jack had not been referring to his disloyal first mate when he'd said those words. _It's been known to happen_. He was talking about her brother.

Ana saw in her mind's eye the face of James Norrington. To him, Prescott had been friend, mentor, and almost brother. Despite this closeness, Prescott had manipulated him, lied to him, and, ultimately, betrayed him. James fell for it every time because he believed Prescott cared for him too deeply to hurt him. Her own brother preyed on that trust and took advantage of that love. And she had always been so impressed by his skilled deceptions. She was no better.

Was it any wonder that Jack continued to so warily guard himself when he unmistakably saw what fate laid in store for any friend of the Tarrets?

No. Ana almost shook her head. How could Jack or she see Prescott as a heartless turncoat? He was her brother for the love of God. Since she could remember, he'd been there for her, sheltering her as best as he could from the pain of her life. In the eyes of the world, she was only his step-sister. No one would have faulted him for totally disregarding a sister of mixed parentage. He could have hated her for her dark skin just as easily as most of the townspeople hated her, but he didn't. He could have hated Jack for being a pirate just as easily as the rest of the Navy hated him.

"Jack," she said, her voice thin and wavering. "He gave up his whole life to save you …" She trailed off, not knowing how to finish. Jack knew what Prescott had walked away from. He didn't need her telling him. Over two years ago, Jack had been in a prison cell waiting to die. He had resigned himself to that fate. Because of Prescott, Jack was still a free man, living on his own terms.

Ana saw his eyes moisten, something she never expected. "Aye, tha' he did, and I'm grateful till the day I die." He paused, his expression hardening. The liquid emotion in his eyes vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "But, you ask me t' trust a man who would betray 'is country?"

Ana could feel herself starting to cry, the intense heat that burned her eyes just before the tears began to fall. Jack's helpless words and tone wholly disarmed her. Lifting her chin she refused to let it happen, for if she cried, she would be telling Jack that he was justified in his mistrust. Stepping forward, she slowly but deliberately took Jack's hand in her own. Lifting it closer to her face, she squinted. After a few seconds of delicious scrutiny, she could just make out the memories of old wounds encircling his wrist. She traced the fading lines with the tip of her finger, and the pirate flinched slightly at the touch. Following the paths of those scars, Ana wondered at the fact that she could see the wounds on his heart just as easily. A life so filled with unmentionable pain she would be hesitant to wish on her worst enemy and here it had been lived by a man she loved.

Prescott, too, had seen that pain. He'd been there when they found the pirate in a Spanish prison, and he had been just as sickened by the treatment given Jack by the commandant as she. Time and time again Prescott had let the famous Captain slip through the Navy's fingers. He'd even gone so far as to knock a man of God unconscious to facilitate one of Jack's many escapes. Hell, Prescott knew Jack and Ana had been with each other, and he'd let the pirate live.

Squaring her shoulders, Ana tried to ignore the voice in her head that was reminding her of how strangely Prescott had been acting since he'd discovered Jack in her cabin. She shushed the voice that recalled days past in which Prescott had gone out of his way to earn a man's trust so that he could get close enough to capture him. Instead, she listened to the voice telling her about the day on the beach, the day her mother had died. She listened to the voice that reminded her of the perfect brother Prescott had always been. "I trust him, Jack," she said, hoping he heard conviction where she was starting to feel doubt. "What if I ask you to trust me?"

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Prescott Tarret sat in a rowboat, his gig specifically, waiting as Black Charlie Boothe rowed out towards _Loyalty_, his ship. To all intents and purposes, he was in control of this situation. Boothe had agreed to his terms, and soon everything would be the way it was meant to be. Despite appearances, Prescott felt like a prisoner being taken, slowly to the prison cell where he was doomed to stay for the rest of his life. This was what a steer felt moments before the slaughter.

This must have been how Jack felt when his mutinous crew was heading towards an island and planning to leave him there. He too must have played out every possible scenario in his head, hoping desperately to find someway out, but knowing that events had progressed beyond his scope, knowing that fate had dealt a cruel hand and planned to call. This must have been how Jack felt. But, Prescott was not heading towards a lonely island, he was leaving one. Prescott was not awaiting death, he was threatening his former friend and colleague, James Norrington, with one of the man's own pistols. Time and time again, James had blindly followed Prescott not knowing that he was being set up and lied to, but still he went along. Prescott knew James was not gullible or foolish. He simply believed each time that Prescott would not possibly betray him again, and each time he was disappointed. The pirate resisted the urge to sigh as he sat threatening Norrington and hating himself for it.

Time was said to possess the power to heal all wounds, however, judging by the expression on James' face, Prescott knew this wound would fester until they were both old men. This was the last time Norrington would sit quietly by and allow Prescott to run the show. He had brought two pistols with him and had planned to use at least one of them on his former colleague, of that, Prescott was certain. This was the final time that he could count on James' friendship. If he managed to live through tonight, he would forever be an enemy of England. Because of this final betrayal, Norrington would come at Prescott, guns drawn, and he would never again listen to any explanation, truth or not. Now, he did sigh, softly. Why hadn't he just killed Boothe why he had the chance?

Why? Prescott almost laughed at the preposterous question. He hadn't run his sword straight through Boothe's cold, shriveled heart because that man had nearly driven him mad with pain. Black Charlie Boothe was the reason Prescott was facing life as a cripple. In the hold of that monster's ship, Prescott had cried out for mercy and begged for death. He had been hurt and humiliated nearly beyond what he could bear. Prescott didn't kill Boothe in that small cave, because he did not want death for him. He wanted that vile son of a bitch completely dismantled and destroyed.

James Norrington would not understand.

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He did understand.

Captain Prescott Tarret had never been the kind of officer that James had wanted to be. But from Prescott, he had learned things that no one else had bothered to teach. Hard life lessons from an increasingly cynical Captain. From a trick question given during a lieutenant's examination, James and understood the art and importance of deception. In his life, he would never be as successfully manipulative as Prescott, but he could generally spot his enemies in a lie. In a way, Prescott's tutelage on that subject was the very reason that James had been suspicious of Black Charlie's crew.

Feeling a twinge in his chest, Norrington remembered the memorial service of an officer taken long before his time. Mr. Midshipman Findley Tarret had been one year younger than James. A splinter from the mainmast had broken off and impaled the young man leaving him to bleed to death in his brother's arms. The church had been filled with mourners, Navy men, and friends, for everyone in Kingston knew the charismatic Lieutenant Tarret or his father the physician, so everyone wished to offer their support when the young man was called home. James recalled Dr. Tarret standing, back hunched and tears running down his cheeks, as he grieved for his lost son only two years after burying his wife, Anamaria's mother. After losing her, Dr. Tarret had lived vicariously and almost happily through his children. After losing Findley, he'd never quite recovered, following his wife and child less than a year later. James could still remember, with alarming clarity, that portrait of a broken man. He recalled just as clearly the stoically strong Lieutenant who held his little sister's hand and offered his arm to support his father. That day, Norrington had discovered the importance of being an example to those who look to you for one.

Later in life, when Prescott allowed the death of one of England's allies and the escape of one of her enemies, James had said he could not comprehend the other officer's rationale. Granted, the ally was an immoral Spaniard and the enemy, a pirate, had been acting to protect Anamaria, but Prescott's behavior had been completely in contrast to every Naval policy and guideline. But, James had understood, for the first time, that duty could not always be paramount in a man's life.

From Prescott, James had learned everything except how to cope with a friend's betrayal, time after time.

James respected Prescott Tarret as he respected few men in this life. Most of the time he stood in awe of Prescott's varied talents, just as he'd been awed by his strength when he stood bloodied and beaten on the deck of Boothe's ship. The agony he must have felt saying that one word. James' heart had ripped in two as he'd held the shivering body of his friend, colleague and teacher, as he'd looked into eyes so clouded by fear, horrific pain, and the slightest hint of madness.

Yes, James Norrington understood Prescott. James respected him, even as he hated him. And James would fear, love, respect, and hate Prescott Tarret when he killed him.

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Black Charlie Boothe grinned as he watched two men who had once been friends facing off in the stern of the rowboat. One held a gun, the other held years of built up anger. The confrontation, when it inevitably happened, would be quite a spectacle. Who came out on top was of little or no significance. If James Norrington ended up the victor, he would be so distraught at having killed a friend, he wouldn't care two cents about Boothe. If Prescott won, which Charles figured was more likely, then their accord would progress as planned.

Boothe was so contented by his current position, that he did not even mind being forced to row. As captive, the wearying task should have fallen to Norrington, but Charles was so interested in the ever thickening tension in the rear of the craft that he was willing to forgive the oversight. Besides, if he appeared to be completely engrossed in rowing, he could observe without being noticed.

He was most keenly interested in his recent ally, Captain Prescott Tarret. Days earlier, Tarret had been a broken, miserable excuse for a man. Not that Charles could blame him, seeing as most men he'd tortured had no hope of holding out as long as the former Navy officer. Driving a heated iron spike through a man's shoulder tended to squelch the last glimmer of hope from a man's eyes. Not Tarret. He'd asked for mercy, in a voice that hated having to ask. He'd invited death. He had prayed to the Almighty for strength. Boothe grunted a laugh, perhaps the Lord did answer prayers, for only divine aid could facilitate such a speedy recovery. Clearly, Prescott was in pain, that was written across his face, but that pain wasn't stopping the former officer. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that he'd been nothing short of completely shocked when Tarret appeared in that cave. He thought he was a dead man, certain sure, but again Tarret had surprised him by proposing a plan beneficial to both of them.

Charles shrugged inwardly. Prescott Tarret was no longer a Royal Navy officer. He was a pirate, through and through. He would look out for himself, and everyone else be damned. Boothe was beginning to like the man.

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"Captain Norrington? James?" Admiral Shane Delaney growled into the darkness. "You're sure he went this way?"

"Positive, Sir," Lieutenant Billings replied, as he followed the Admiral and Sir George up a particularly uneven rise.

Shane scowled, pausing on a somewhat flat outcropping. The stone was barely large enough for himself and Captain Williams, which left Norrington's lieutenant perched precariously on the poor excuse for a path they had been following. Delaney felt little sympathy for the younger man, just contempt. Not because Billings had done anything untoward, but simply because Shane was angry and it was easier to be angry at a mere lieutenant than at Sir George. On top of that, it was much easier to be angry at anyone but the one person who really deserved that resentment: himself. He had let this fiasco of a plan go on for far too long, and he alone was to blame for his present predicament.

Massaging his temples, Shane sighed a deep, self-loathing sigh. He had personally signed the papers that made Prescott Tarret, an enemy of the Crown, a commissioned privateer. In effect, he had assured that the lying bastard was practically above the law. Because of this major tactical blunder, Captain James Norrington, a subordinate, had done everything but curse Delaney for a fool. Norrington had since gone off by himself to find Tarret and disappeared. Jack Sparrow, the other pirate who'd been hiding aboard James' ship was also missing. That left Shane with Sir George, a man who knew the Admiral well enough to know that he thought himself derelict of his duties, and a lieutenant who claimed to know which way Norrington had gone. To make matters worse, he learned only hours ago that Anamaria Tarret was also somehow involved. She was on this very island either as a captive or traipsing around with her miscreant brother, for the love of all things holy.

"You say he went to the next ledge then passed out of your sight?" Sir George was asking Billings, who nodded in response. The Captain turned back to Delaney. "Then, Sir, we should find him before long. After all, the island is not so large." Shane only glared in response. Captain Williams took the Admiral's foul humor in stride. "We will find Miss Tarret, as well, Sir," he said.

"You forget your place, Williams," Shane replied dismissively.

"I forget nothing, Sir. I merely noticed your anxiety for the lady." Sir George answered Shane's sharpening glare with a cool, calmness of a man who knew he would find no real trouble by being a mite bold with his superior officer.

"I doubt you need to worry about her, Sir," Billings added confidently.

Delaney's glare shifted suddenly to the lieutenant. "What would make you say such a thing?" he demanded. "Do you know Miss Tarret?"

The younger officer shrugged. "Met her would be closer to the truth," he smiled. "But, with all do respect to the lady, it only takes once to know that she isn't one that needs looking after." Billings made a face that added _if you know what I mean_ to his words. Shane was positive that the comment had been disrespectful and rude, but he indisputably did know what Billings meant. Anamaria Tarret could take care of herself and that was precisely why Shane was so worried.

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Anamaria slumped down in the high back chair behind Prescott's desk. Jack had snuck out and gone into his own cabin, to find a pistol. That was the reason he gave, anyway. Running and hiding from Ana's direct appeal for his trust was more like it. She let out a long, slow sigh. She wanted to sit in her brother's cabin and fume about the fact that Jack could doubt his loyalty. She wanted her brain to be overflowing with perfectly logical reasons for Prescott's recent change in attitude. She couldn't. What she could do was come up with a hundred different signs and pieces of evidence that supported quite the opposite line of thinking.

She clenched her hand into a fist and barely contained the urge to slam it down on the desk, a loud enough noise to bring Jack and Black Charlie's meager crew rushing in upon her. She should do it. Maybe if she did the completely unexpected, she would ruin Prescott's well planned treachery, and he would be forced to rescue her and Jack. Leaning her elbows on the desktop, she held her head in her hands. Who was she kidding? Prescott wouldn't be able to formulate any sort of a rescue. He was days out of a sickbed, and he only had one bloody arm left. Perhaps that was what prompted this betrayal. Anger towards Jack for bringing him back into contact with Charles Boothe, anger at Jack for endangering Ana, or anger at Jack for sleeping with Ana. There were easily a dozen other reasons that Prescott could have for being furious with the pirate. Jack knew it, and so did she.

But why? Why would Prescott betray a man he'd given up so much to save? Why not let Jack hang years ago when the opportunity had presented itself? Did he have to spend almost three years earning the pirate's friendship only to cut him down in the end? Running her hands through her long black hair, Ana sighed again. Prescott was supposed to be a master tactician. If there was a way to get out of this without stabbing Jack in the back, Prescott could have found it.

Ana closed her eyes. Her brother could have found away, if he had looked hard enough. Maybe, he simply didn't want to.

So lost in thought had she been that when the door to the cabin began to open she was almost caught off guard. Almost. Practically flying across the small room, Ana concealed herself behind the door, gripping the dueling sword tightly in her hand. "One step further and I send you to the devil," she hissed, poking the sword into the back of the intruder.

"I've 'eard even he doesn't want me, love," Jack's voice answered.

Feeling supremely foolish, Ana lowered the sword and carefully closed the door. Jack still stood in the middle of the room, both hands in the air. "Stop it," Ana whispered. "I wasn't expecting you back so fast."

"It's me own cabin, darling," Jack, grinning for the first time since they'd set foot on _Loyalty_, turned to face Ana. "No' like I had t' search high and low."

Ana's eyes traveled to the pirate's waist, where a loaded pistol was shoved into his belt. Armed now with sword and gun, Jack looked every inch the dangerous pirate, worthy of his reputation.

"No one saw you?"

Jack shook his head.

"What now, then?"

The pirate perched on the edge of Prescott's dark wood desk and began inspecting the pistol he'd found in his cabin. "Now, we wait," he replied calmly. Jack became instantly focused on cleaning his gun, and promptly ignored Ana's scowl.

For better or worse, the pair did not have to wait for long. Seconds later, the cabin door was flung open revealing the indignant face of James Norrington. Jack was on his feet without delay, still holding the dismantled weapon in his hands.

"James!" Ana exclaimed, totally surprised by his appearance. She was poised, ready to act, but she had no idea what she should be ready for. At the very best, she had been expecting to see Prescott come to their aid. At worst, Charles Boothe would have entered and they would have to negotiate with the vile creature. Norrington had not been part of either plan.

The loud click of a pistol being brought to bear immediately drew the lady's attention back to Jack. However, instead of seeing the pirate training his weapon on the intruder, Ana saw the barrel of a gun pressed against his neck. Black Charlie Boothe, who must have entered from the balcony, ominously emerged from the shadows. He was wearing the sickening grin of a man who undoubtedly had the upper hand. Ana's mind whirled. How in the name of heaven had Boothe known to expect company in the Captain's cabin? How did he know to come in through the balcony?

"I do hope you weren't waiting on us long," Ana heard Prescott's voice greet, amiably.

The lady once again gaped in the direction of the doorway. James had entered the cabin, prodded no doubt, by the weapon in her eldest brother's hand. And, suddenly everything made sense. Jack had been right all along. Prescott had every intention of betraying the pirate to assure his own safety. Ana's brows came together angrily as she regarded Prescott through eyes unclouded by naiveté or wishful thinking. She saw her dear, loving brother for the cheating turncoat that he truly was. She saw his disloyalty and his manipulation. Anamaria looked at her brother through an enemy's eyes.

TBC

Well, my dear faithful reviewers I hope things are starting to get really interesting now!

BlackMary47: Of course I can't tell you what Pres may or may not have in store, but I'm going to try not to disappoint! I'm so happy to hear that you love Billings. He's becoming more intriguing the more I write abot him.I hope you all find it believable and realistic that he would let slip a few little white lies to protect Prescott. I just think that's how he would react. I don't mean to keep putting Pres up on a pedistal, but he was a British hero. He was promoted to Admiral at a very young age, and I think he must have done some pretty amazing things to earn that promotion. I guess I kind of look at Prescott as resembling JFK. Let me explain. So many Americans loved the man whether or not they agreed with his politics, because he was young, handsome and charismatic. The whole nation mourned his loss, no matter who they voted for when he was elected. That's how I see Prescott. Charming, witty, and pretty damn good at his job. So, when he up and disappeared, the people who knew him or just read about him in the Gazette would have mourned his loss. So, when coming face to face with Pres, I think Billings would have little trouble justifying his lies.

Rose of England: I'm so glad to see that no one minded Will's little cameo. I'm interested by the possibility that Will could have met Pres, and maybe even Jack, before the movie. I'll be working that into a story at some point, I can assure you. Also happy to see another Billings fan. And I'm very sorry to tug on your Norry loving heartstrings. He does get the short end of the deal all too often where Prescott is concerned, maybe this is why he's so quick to want Jack dead when they meet in the movie?

SylviaD:Well, I know I had promised to clear up some of the confusion with this chappy. Sorry, I don't think I really delivered on that promise. I was writing what I thought was going to be this chapter, but then the muse struck and I completely changed my mind about how this story is going to end. So, I apologize for giving you false hope, but you're going to have to wait a bit longer for all to be explained. Please, blame the muse, not me! One thing I can promise, and I won't go back on this one, is that Scotty will have a genuinely good explanation for everything that he's done thus far. He isn't hurting people needlessly, I swear!

Yuna-Flowering: You do have to feel bad for James, don't you. He does get caught in the middle more times than not. I don't know why I torture him so, but it just seems to fit with his character. I don't think he could've been fooled so easily by Jack at the end of the movie, if he didn't have a habit of falling for pirate schemes in the past. Besides that, we hurt the ones we love, and it's hard not to love Norry. Also, glad to hear you liked spotting Will.

An-Angel-In-Hell: First, I have to answer a completely unrelated question that you asked in your last review for "Kindling" I think Phantom was supposed to be in AZ until July 3rd. I don't remember the name of the theater, but it's somewhere in Tempe (right outside of Phoenix) So, move your plans up a day and get there in time! I'm always happy to hear that I share obsessions besides PotC with my reviewers! Anyway, about this story, I can't possibly reveal what Pres is up to, but stay tuned it's bound to be very interesting. Also, I'm happy to see that you liked seeing Will show up here.

Freak87: I'm glad to hear that you're questioning Pres a little bit. He's a good guy, but he certainly isn't squeaky clean by any means. I'm very happy to keep everyone guessing concerning what he will finally do. As for Delaney not asking why Ana was on the island, I think he knows better. I mean, Ana is not the typical prim and proper lady that Delaney is used to. She does so many things that he cannot possibly understand, so I think he's probably given up trying to understand why she is the way she is! The curving twisted road is straightening just a bit, if only because the gang is all together now. Expect fireworks next chappy, b/c the road isn't finished twisting.

Cal: My dear Cal, I do hate to make my reviewers suffer, but I'm kind of happy that you were scared/worried for Jack when he was just frozen on the balcony before stepping into Prescott's cabin. That's exactly the feeling I was trying to convey. I think someone who's whole life and freedom is the sea would be very attune to the way a ship feels. And, when Jack finds that something has drastically changed about the ship (ie. the whole crew is dead and who knows what Pres is up to) he would be frightened by that fact. And I'm sorry for the last line of that little section, but while I'm tugging on your heartstrings concerning Jack's painfilled life, why not tear them outcompletely by having the pirate say something so terribly sad. On the same note, I know the Pres section was also pretty painful to read, cause it was hard to write. But, I'm so happy that Pres is on equal ground with Jack and Ana. From the first time I wrote Pres in the story, I just felt the need to make him more than just a nameless/faceless OC who passes in and out without being noticed. I've grown to love him, and I'm so happy that I'm not the only one! I also really liked writing Pres, imitating Jack. I think after sailing with Jack for more than two years, Prescott would have seen time and time again how Jack's personality just disarms people. In the cave, Pres is trying to make both Norry and Boothe believe that this is exactly what he'd planned to happen. So, if he acts like Jack, maybe they will concentrate on that rather than the fact that the sword in his hand is shaking like a leaf.

Thanks for all of the reviews. I love hearing everyone's thoughts, so please keep them coming!


	22. A Piratess Acts

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from PotC.

**Chapter Twenty-Two: "A Piratess Acts"**

Painted up to look like a Frenchman, the former _HMS Loyalty_ was still quite a magnificent ship to behold. She was a relic from a time in which power, not speed, was paramount to Navy shipbuilders. Nowadays, frigates, such as _Interceptor_, carried fewer guns, less cargo, smaller crews, and were otherwise streamlined for patrols and pirate hunting. _Loyalty_, however, had been the last of a dying breed of pirate catchers, the sort of vessel that never had to give chase. She could fell nearly any pirate ship with one lucky broadside, and, in the hands of a man who could make his own luck, she had been one of the mightiest ships in the King's service. For the past few years, _Loyalty_ and her Captain had been one of the mightiest thorns in His Majesty's royal side.

Admiral Shane Delaney had heard the stories told of _HMS Loyalty_ nearly his whole life. Twelve years ago, a lieutenant aboard the flagship had saved former Admiral Fornin's life. As reward for a hero's service, the young lieutenant had been promoted to Post Captain and given command of _Loyalty._ After seven years spent capturing criminals, enemies and prizes for England, _Loyalty's_ Captain was given command of one of the very few ships of the line to ever be sent to the West Indies. The seventy gun _Resolute_ was commissioned to the Caribbean to catch a pirate named Bartholomew Roberts, a task which was successfully completed. _Resolute_ then sailed to England where her Captain was knighted for his outstanding service to the crown, though, the ever humble, ever idiosyncratic Captain never permitted anyone to call him _Sir Prescott_. Of course, _Resolute_ was sunk off the coast of a small Spanish isle in the West Indies a few years later, and her Captain re-assumed command of _Loyalty_. But the reputation of ship and Captain as undeniable heroes in the King's Navy never diminished.

This was the short version of a tale nearly everyone in the West Indies could recite from memory. Much longer yarns spun in taverns across the map involved specific battles, selfless service, and unimaginable tactical victories. It was out from under this giant shadow that Shane Delaney peered to sea, spying the legendary ship and …

"There, Sir," Captain Williams pointed across the water to a small boat rowing towards _Loyalty_.

He handed Shane the glass, and the Admiral trained it on the rowboat. Delaney almost knew who he was going to see before he had focused on their faces. Prescott Tarret, _Loyalty_'s legendary Captain, sat in the boat's stern with a pistol aimed at Captain Norrington. Black Charlie Boothe was manning the oars. Clapping the telescope shut, Shane scowled. "Sir George," he said, the unbridled fury easily distinguishable in his voice. "Go back to the point of embarkation and bring a contingent of marines here, to _Loyalty_." Prescott Tarret may or may not have been the valiant character from the pages of the Naval Gazette, but Shane was taking no chances. Tarret was one man, minus one critical appendage. Five marines were fit to the task of capturing him, but an entire battalion could not fail.

Captain Williams saluted. "Of course, Sir," he said. "What will you do?"

"Mr. Billings and I are going out there," Delaney said. Normally, a Rear Admiral wouldn't dream of personally taking on this sort of assignment. An Admiral could, and usually did, delegate. Shane, however, was fed up with having to dole out duties to men who didn't have a particular stake in their success. Delaney knew he had made this mess, and it was up to him to clean it up. Besides, the marines would arrive soon enough to provide any assistance he required.

"Alone, Sir?" the Captain questioned, no doubt in response to the wide eyed lieutenant who stood apprehensively regarding the Admiral.

"Yes, alone." He didn't know exactly how much peril awaited aboard _Loyalty_. Captain Norrington and Mr. Billings were his only true allies in this venture. However, Black Charlie Boothe had made enemies of everyone involved, even Tarret and Sparrow. More often than not, an enemy of an enemy could be counted on as a friend at least until the greater of two evils had been destroyed. And that was long enough for Shane. With Boothe handily dispatched, Shane and his marines would take Sparrow into custody and finally get the chance to rub Tarret's smug face in his mistakes.

Billings took a deep breath and turned back to the ship, seemingly preparing himself for the task at hand. Sir George continued gaping at his superior officer in disbelief. "Forgive me, Sir, but isn't that a tad dangerous?"

"Less dangerous when you bring the marines," Delaney snarled. Williams nodded and hurried back down the path towards the beach on the opposite side of the island. "Well, Lieutenant," Shane said, taking off his jacket. "Fancy a swim."

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Anamaria watched in stunned silence as Prescott stepped into the Captain's quarters, his quarters. In his one remaining hand, he held a pistol pointed at James Norrington. James was angry, and barely managing to contain that anger. His rage, however, was no match for Ana's. She was watching her brother betray his best friend. Her grip around the hilt of the dueling saber tightened. She was watching Prescott destroy the man she loved. Ana could almost feel herself shaking she was so furious.

Jack had been right. Prescott had betrayed people, friends, before and he'd done it again, just as effortlessly. What had happened to that man in the hospital bed? The man who had been frightened and cried on her shoulder. That man had thrown Jack off a cliff and stayed behind to take the brunt of Black Charlie's wrath. Was that when he had struck up this abysmal bargain? She remembered the pain in Prescott's eyes. Had the pain Boothe inflicted been enough to make Prescott agree to anything? No. She had seen agony in her brother's face, but not defeat. If he made a deal with Black Charlie, he'd done it of his own free will. She wanted to see Prescott's eyes, now, as he stood threatening to kill a friend. How desperately she wanted to look into his face and see a subtle glimmer, or a wink, that would tell her this was all a ruse. But, Prescott wasn't looking at his sister. He was looking at Jack, and his blue eyes were cold and hard as stone. This was no trick. Her brother was prepared to betray the man who'd sat up all night bathing his sweating brow. What incomprehensible treachery.

"Ye look a mite surprised, Sparrow," Charles Boothe said, tapping the pirate Captain on the shoulder with the barrel of the pistol.

Jack flinched slightly, but his face was unreadable. He simply stared squarely back at Prescott. Ana could only imagine what horrible pain the pirate was grappling with. Yet another betrayal from a man he'd called brother. "Scotty?" Ana's heart nearly broke at the sound of Jack's voice. It sounded so foreign to her ears when colored by fear and doubt.

"You know, Jack," Prescott began, his voice sounding eerily detached to Ana's ears. "The really sad part about all this was that you believed me. You really believed that I threw away my whole life, a life that I built up piece by piece … that I threw it all away to keep my word to you, to a pirate."

Through hate-tinged eyes, Ana watched as James' face contorted with confusion. "But, you did," he said. "You walked away from everything."

A peculiar smile spread across Prescott's visage, a smile that did not reach his deadly serious eyes. "James, I politely refused the promotion to Admiral because, you and I both know that answering to bureaucrats was never my specialty. Too many rules, and codes of conduct. Too many good men from political offices looking over my shoulder." The strange smile widened. "But, of course, there is a way to serve my country where I don't need to follow protocol quite so closely."

James turned to gape at Prescott, who gestured to a piece of paper sticking out from his front coat pocket. James retrieved the document and unfolded it. His eyes widened, as though he recognized the paper instantly. Turning it so the remainder of the assembled company could see, James once again stared openly at Prescott. "Privateer," he breathed.

"Have you ever seen Letters of Marque, Jack?" Prescott sneered.

"You're a privateer?" Jack's voice was soft, disbelieving.

Prescott cocked his head to one side. "I'll admit, Jack, this wasn't exactly as easy as I'd planned. You're a good man, better than most, and there were times when I didn't know if I'd be able to go through with this," he paused, his blue eyes narrowing. "Maybe you should've kept your filthy hands off of my sister."

"Yer a bounty hunter," Jack spat the words.

Smiling, Prescott nodded. "And I'm about to collect. Captain Norrington, I give you Jack Sparrow."

If Ana had been waiting for the last straw, the one that would break the proverbial camel's back, her brother's name on that privateer's commission was it. How long he'd had those papers, she didn't know. She did know that Letters of Marque had to be signed by a provincial governor and an Admiral, which could only mean that Prescott and Shane were somehow working together. Working hand in hand to bring down Jack Sparrow.

Empowered by anger, desperation, and the imperative need to keep Jack safe, Ana stepped forward and snatched the damnedable Letters of Marque from James' grasp. Then, spinning around, she brought the dueling saber into action, slashing the blade across her brother's hand. Prescott's pistol fell to the deck, as a thin line of red blood opened across his wrist. "For God's sake, Annie," he exclaimed, more surprised than hurt. "Seeing as I've only got the one, I'd like to keep it attached, if you wouldn't mind."

Ana pursed her lips and pointed the tip of the saber at her brother's throat. Prescott's face turned instantly somber, his lips parted, and he almost looked afraid for the first time since he'd entered the cabin. James, who had been moving to take Jack into custody, abruptly stopped. Even Black Charlie, quiet until now, seemed to be mildly interested in this turn of events. "What'er ye doin, lass?" he asked.

"Captain Boothe, you may call me Anamaria or Miss Tarret. _Lass_ will not do," Ana said. The vile pirate raised an eyebrow, as impressed with her authoritative, brash speech as Jack had been the first time he'd heard it. He inclined his chin in a somewhat respectful manner. "Now, is it safe to assume that you and my brother have made some sort of bargain?" Charles nodded. "What were the terms of that deal?"

Black Charlie's eyes narrowed. Apparently, Jack Sparrow had not been the only pirate unaccustomed to dealing with a woman who wasn't afraid to speak and act as she pleased. She shifted her weight and placed her hand on her hip impatiently. Black Charlie was going to learn that Anamaria Tarret was not a woman to be trifled with, one way or the other. "The return o' me ruby, these two out of the way, and safe passage t' any port I wish."

"And what were you to give Prescott?"

"My word tha' I'd stay clear of ye, and 'is ship," Charlie answered, gesturing to Ana and the cabin they were standing in, respectively.

The lady could almost feel her skin crawling. Had Prescott really used her to justify this reproachable show of disloyalty? Did he truly believe that she would ever forgive him for trading Jack for her safety? She could not believe that Prescott would presume to play with men's lives, to declare Ana's life more important than Jack's.

Glaring at Prescott, Ana kicked the dropped pistol in Norrington's direction. The Captain quickly retrieved his weapon. "Well, gentlemen," Ana began. "The deal is about to change."

"Annie," her brother spoke up. "What are you doing?"

The lady ignored Prescott. There was an anxious timber in his voice that might've been able to weaken her resolve if she let it. "James, you are going to have to accept an even trade," she stated. "One pirate," she looked to Jack, who's face was no longer guarded. He looked openly flabbergasted. "For another," her gazed returned to her brother's face. Prescott swallowed. He was worried, but Ana refused to be softened by his clear play on her emotions. She did not relish having to hurt Prescott. He was her only family. But he was wrong, and he'd gone too far.

"Annie," James began, holding his hands out to either side in a helpless gesture.

"Is there a problem?" she demanded.

"He can't," Prescott answered her question, softly, reluctantly. "Letters of Marque can only be rescinded by the governor or the Admiral. Until then, James and I are once again fellow officers." James grimaced. "In a matter of speaking," Prescott amended, noticing that Norrington did not seem overly pleased with his words.

"When did it happen?" Ana turned to her brother, the man who'd taken a little girl to the beach in an effort to save her from the pain of her mother's death. The man who'd slept on the floor of Findley's empty bedroom for days after the funeral. Her lip began to quiver. She could feel hairline cracks beginning to form in her heart. "When did you sell your soul for a bloody piece of paper?"

Sighing, Prescott said, "Annie, don't do this."

In place of a response, the lady held up the privateer's commission and tore the paper down the center. Stepping momentarily out to the balcony, she threw both pieces over the side. Her brother's eyes fell closed, and his head bowed. "Now, Captain Norrington," Ana said. "Will you take my brother into custody?" James stepped forward to follow a woman's orders, training his pistol on Prescott.

Prescott reopened his eyes as James took hold of his bleeding arm. "Anamaria," he whispered. "You've hung me."

"What happened to you, Prescott?" Ana asked. "I wonder if Fin would even recognize you." Someone, maybe Jack, gasped at the mention of their dead brother. Prescott froze, paling considerably. The man of a million schemes was backed into a corner with no will to escape, admitting defeat. Ana's face hardened against her brother's show of weakness. "The way you've treated people, all the lies, the betrayals … Prescott, you've hung yourself."

Her brother's jaw twitched as he exhaled. With that breath went his confidence and his strength, and suddenly, Prescott looked very tired. Ana's heart would've broke, if she'd allowed it. Prescott spoke true, she had just sentenced him to die. However, the man standing before her was hardly her brother, anymore. He had been willing to let Jack go to the noose just to satisfy his misguided over protectiveness. How could she have trusted him after this? How could she love a man who had been so ready to hurt her? "Captain Boothe," Ana continued, making every effort not to look at Prescott's pleading eyes. "Your end of the deal still stands. Captain Sparrow and I will take _Loyalty_, and you'll never come near me again." Charles quirked an eyebrow. "Getting Captain Norrington out of your way will be your own challenge, but you will have your ruby, and, clearly, my brother will no longer be a problem. Do you agree to those terms?"

"If I don't?" Boothe said.

Jack, who'd been silently reassembling his own gun since this debacle began, answered Charlie's question by knocking the pistol from his enemy's hand. Holding his weapon against Boothe's temple, Jack said, "If ye don't, I'll shoot ye where ye stand."

Ana and Jack exchanged glances. The pirate Captain's face was grim, and who could blame him? He'd just discovered that a man who he had sailed with and trusted was a bottom feeding traitor who's loyalties laid with the highest bidder. Ana remembered seeing her husband for the first time after believing he was dead for years. Her heart had deflated within her chest. All the love she'd had for him had been a lie he'd tricked her into believing. He'd never been the man she thought he was. He'd been no better than a scoundrel and she cursed herself for blindly buying into all the things he'd said to her. She could only imagine that Jack was feeling the same way about Prescott. "Well?" Ana reiterated her question to Boothe.

Black Charlie held his hands up unthreateningly. "In tha' case, we 'ave an accord."

88888

Soaking wet on the deck of a pirate ship, Admiral Delaney realized that in his haste to reel in Prescott Tarret he'd forgotten to formulate some sort of plan. He hadn't a clue what he was going to say to the band of men loyal to Black Charlie who were crowding around him. Judging by the almost hungry stares of the ragged group of pirates, Shane decided that reasoning with them would be futile. He would just have to buy enough time for the marines to show up.

None of the brigands spoke, they simply stood leering at Shane and Billings until a tall sailor wearing a black bandana strode down from the quarterdeck. This pirate walked with a confident air that made the Admiral assume he was the ranking sailor among this rabble. His hair was dark, streaked with silver, though he appeared to be much younger than Delaney. His bare torso was a mess of old wounds and tattoos and his face was marred by a scar that ran from his left ear to his mouth, turning his lips into a permanent scowl on one side. A sword with a wide curved blade hung at the man's hip. He stopped his advance just in front of Delaney. "I apologize," he said with a thick Irish brogue. "It's been a wee bit o' time since we've 'ad an Admiral on board. I'm afraid the men 'ave forgotten 'ow t' act."

"You ask me to believe an Irishman ever lived who knew how to behave in the face of his betters," Delaney said. Usually when finding oneself surrounded by at least fifteen hostile men, baiting one of them into a fight was not the wisest course of action. However, a spark of uncommon intelligence lingered just behind the silver haired pirate's eyes. He wouldn't back down from this confrontation and risk losing face in front of the men, but nor would he strike Shane dead for his belligerent comments. This pirate was calculating enough to realize that he needed to find out why an Admiral of the Fleet had swam out to his ship before he decided how to deal with said Admiral.

The buccaneer's scared lips curled into a thin smile, and he grunted a laugh. "Ye should show a bit o' respect," he said. "Quarter o' yer Navy's Irish."

"On quarter of the men are criminals pressed into the service, yes," Shane went on. "Helps control over population in the prisons."

The pirate's smile only broadened. He was enjoying this verbal duel, indicating that he was even smarter than Delaney had first estimated. "An' I suppose yer going t' say next tha' an Irishman wouldn't ever do well in prison anyway, eh? Too found of the juice of the barley."

"My sediments exactly," the Admiral agreed.

"I've heard it all before, an' I have t' admit it's getting a bit boring. Hows 'bout ye tell me what yer doin' here, so's I can get t' decidin' how long yer t' be livin." The rest of the assembled buccaneers murmured their agreement, and Delaney did not miss the Irish pirate's hand slipping down to the hilt of his sword.

"Callaghan," a voice turned every crewmen's head. Shane and Billings watched as Black Charlie emerged from belowdecks. "No need fer all tha hostility." The Irish pirate's hand fell from his sword, but he irreverently did not acknowledge his Captain's orders. Apparently, Boothe hadn't been able to earn the complete respect of his own men. "As you men already know, we've 'ad the pleasure of Captain Tarret's presence. Unfortunately," Charlie paused, as James Norrington escorted Tarret onto the maindeck, gripping his arm authoritatively. Tarret's appearance on deck did turn Callaghan's head, making Delaney hate the former officer all the more. "E's made one too many enemies in His Majesty's Navy, an' they've come t' collect 'im."

88888

Prescott allowed James to lead him to the deck as a mother would lead a petulant child. He knew he was only seconds away from falling to his knees and screaming at the top of his lungs and it was taking every ounce of self control he possessed to keep himself from completely losing his cool. Of all the things that could have gone awry, he never expected this. He never expected that his own sister could send him to his grave.

Boothe was saying something to his men about the new deal he'd made with Annie. Telling them that they were only days away from their share of the spoils from the Heart of Captain Morgan. Prescott sighed silently. How he wished he'd never heard of that cursed ruby, let alone have been the one to unearth it.

With his head bowed, he saw Admiral Delaney disappear over the side, descending to _Loyalty's_ gig with a victorious gleam in his green eyes. Lieutenant Billings, somehow thrown back into the center of this mess, followed. James steered him forward by his one remaining arm. He swung one leg over, chancing a final glance at his sister, and Jack. The pirate Captain's face was a mask of calm, though Prescott knew he was far from it. Still, Jack was an excellent pirate, and he would watch over Annie. Prescott took small comfort in that. Annie, however, was not calm. An intense fire still burned in her eyes. She hated him, plain as day, and her hate hurt like hell.

James again took hold of Prescott's arm, helping him down to the rowboat. In normal circumstances, the former officer would have detested the assistance. Pride would have forced him to accomplish this small task on his own, but his pride was crushed, utterly demolished. He doubted he would have resisted if James had thrown him over his shoulder and gone over the side. As Prescott neared the gig, he felt a pair of hands grip his shoulders, "I've got you, Sir," Lieutenant Billings said, reassuringly. The young officer helped Prescott to the bow of the boat, and in his eyes there was regret. Billings, it seemed, was the only one involved who was even the slightest bit sorry for the path that lie before a former hero of Britain.

88888

As she watched her brother leaving his ship, Ana knew that she was seeing him for the last time. She and Jack would be sailing for Tortuga, Eleuthera, or whatever godforsaken port Black Charlie decided upon, and Norrington and Delaney would be taking Prescott back to Kingston for trial and … execution. She wanted to say goodbye, and she did want to tell her brother how much she loved him, but she could not. She would mourn his loss, and a hole would be ever present in her heart, but her dear brother had already died. She did not know when, but the brother that had loved her with no thought for himself was not in a rowboat headed for shore.

"No' havin a crisis of conscience, are ye, lass?" Black Charlie asked, as Ana went to the side watching the gig pull away.

"I thought I made myself clear when I said you could call me Miss Tarret or – " Anamaria stopped mid-sentence as she turned back to Boothe. Her eyes widened, and her breath dried up in her throat. Somehow, Jack had been relieved of his pistol. A bandana had been shoved into his mouth, and he was being held captive by two of Boothe's crew. "What are you doing?" Ana demanded, frightened.

"As ye said yerself, lass, deal's changed," Charlie said, smiling crudely. "Callaghan, please show Captain Sparrow an' his wench t' the finest cell we've got."

A sailor with a black bandana and a scarred face bowed slightly before Ana and extended his arm, gesturing for her to go below decks. She gaped back and forth from Black Charlie to Jack. Boothe had crossed his arms and was wearing the face of a man who was finally being allowed to have his fun. Jack's eyes were black as night. He was sending Ana a look that seemed to say _I knew this was going to happen_. Gazing over her shoulder, she could barely make out the small gig that was making its way back to the island. If she couldn't see them, then they couldn't see her either. Not that any of them would be overly interested in rescuing her after a night like this one. "My God," she breathed. "What have I done?"

TBC

Well, it was a bit of a longer time coming, but I changed my mind several times concerning how this chappy was going to play out. This version won out in the end, so I hope it was worth the wait.

Fearlessfreak: Glad you're back! I don't know if Barbossa was really capable of love, but Jack is, and was. His first mate had to be someone he trusted to look out for him, and he must have cared about Barbossa to give the man that position of power. As for Prescott, well, what he's done is done, isn't it?

An-Angel-In-Hell: Prescott, even though I made him up, has a mind of his own and he will do what he will do.

SylviaD: At this point, Pres and James' relationship does seem to be broken beyond repair, but I have many more stories to tell, and we'll see how they get to the point that they're at during "Kindling" I'm glad that I've kept you guessing with all the twists and turns, I'm almost keeping myself guessing! I'm interested to hear how you feel about Pres after this chapter, cause I've got something interesting for him in the next one and I can't wait to write it and show it to you and all of my wonderful reviewers.

Cal: I'm sorry to say that you won't be getting an alternate ending from me, not b/c I'd feel I was selling out, but b/c it simply was never written. I just had the idea for an ending, and then got a better idea. I guess I'll just have to hope you all like the ending I chose, cause it's the one your stuck with! And, yes, I don't bother warning you about angst anymore, cause I just figure you all read my stories with tissues on hand by now. The Jack/Ana angst was really turned up last chappy, wasn't it? I love writing these early scenes between the two of them, cause I think Jack almost can't help but open up to her, and then he gets scared and hides again. Poor pirate, he just needs some hugs, I think! Volunteers? Boy, re-reading your review, I really did pile on the angst. Pres needs hugs too, please form a line to my right for Pres and my left for Jack. And, right, we're adding George to Ana's collections, so that makes Jack, James, Shane, George, Billings, John ... am I leaving anyone out? Busy girl. Anyway, now go read the chappy, and let me know what you think of Pres' and our favorite hellcat!

Yuna-Flowering: Pres and Norry will have a colorful relationship all the way up to "Kindling" and I'm really looking foward to writing the trouble they'll get into. As for Boothe, I'm glad you appreciate him. It's a bit scary when the villian begins to respect one of the "good" guys, isn't it?

Freak87: You're right,Pres and Ana arehalf brother and sister. Oops. As for whether or not Pres is the low life turncoat that he seems to be, well, I'd love to know what you think after this chappy, cause his plan certainly had gotten a bit off track.

Rose of England:I'm definitely going to write Will into a story at some point, cause I think it would be interesting too. As for Norry learning things from Pres, I think he's learned a lot from him, just not lessons he's been completely willing to learn.

Thanks again to you all, I'll try and have the next update up quicker!


	23. Dismantling a Deceiver

Obligatory disclaimer just in case anyone forgot that Disney owns PotC.

**Chapter Twenty-Three: "Dismantling a Deceiver"**

"My God," Ana breathed. "What have I done?" The lady looked from Boothe to the band of men loyal to his cause as a solid mass of despair lodged itself in her throat. Any hope of salvation was sailing away in a tiny rowboat. Her brother was facing death, James Norrington was taking him there, and Shane had left without so much as a backward glance. Where had she gone wrong? Was God punishing her for attempting to deceive one of the most gifted deceivers He'd ever created? She'd made a few changes in the deal Boothe had with her brother, but her offer was still mutually beneficial to herself, Jack and Black Charlie. Of course, she hadn't counted on the fact that a man could be so bent on revenge that no arrangement, no matter how sweet, could dissuade him from repaying the hurt that had been done to him. Until this moment, Black Charlie had been an imbecilic adversary, exceedingly cruel, but ultimately dense and slow. Seeing him now, leering down at her from his position of total power and control, she realized that she had underestimated her enemy. Looking in Jack's dark eyes, she knew, he would not have made the same mistake.

"What's the matter, lass," Boothe asked, his voice the perfect mockery of concern. "No' so eager t' share me comp'ny now that yer no' in charge?"

Ana's eyes narrowed. "Never was I eager to share your company," she said, feigning confidence. "Better that I'm to stay in the hold, at least that arrangement keeps me far from the Captain's quarters."

"Wait, Callaghan," Charles ordered, halting the pirate who had been ready to escort Ana to her latest prison cell. Boothe's attention left the lady, for the moment, and turned to Jack. "A spirited filly ye 'ave there, Capt'n Sparrow," he sneered. Jack struggled briefly against the men holding him, but said nothing. Heated shot flew from his eyes, but Black Charlie remained unscathed and undeterred. "A mite outspoken fer me tastes," Charles continued, "And, ye know what they say …" he trailed off, waiting for someone to ask _What do they say_? When, the expected question failed to be voiced, he went on as though it had. "They say, a man pays fer the comp'ny he keeps." Jack squared his shoulders, as much as his captors' restraining hands would allow, as though bracing himself for a blow. "This is the third time yer lady fair has insulted me," Charles explained. "I think three dozen will do."

Anamaria lifted her hand to cover her mouth as Black Charlie reached inside of the red pouch tied around his waist. The sadistic buccaneer was smiling as he let the cat out of the bag. Ana's breath hitched seeing the crimson-stained ropes. "I do apologize, lass" Boothe was saying, his glare once again fixed on the lady. "I haven't been able t' find the time t' clean her since yer brother was guest aboard my ship." If she'd had any food in her stomach, she would have spilled it onto the deck as she gaped at her own brother's life blood, dried and clinging to that implement of torture. Tears came, unbidden, to her eyes and poured down the sides of her face.

Now, Sparrow did speak, despite the gag in his mouth, and Ana felt sure that her ears would've bled if that bit of cloth hadn't obstructed some of the words he used. It seemed not to matter to him that Prescott had been about to hand Jack's life over to the authorities. Even Ana had to admit that her heart ached for the man she'd condemned and despised only moments ago. All she seemed to see in her mind's eye was Prescott's beaten and bloodied body in that hospital, hanging on to life by a thinning thread. Worse though, was the fact that Boothe was thinking of using the same soiled weapon to hurt Jack, to hurt the man she loved because of things she'd said.

"Tie 'im t' the mast, men," Charles ordered. The two men holding Jack dragged their resisting charge towards the mainmast, and a third followed with a length of rope. "An' do relieve 'im of that gag … I'll want t' hear 'im scream." One of the men restraining Jack pulled the cloth from his mouth allowing Jack to shout a curse so rank that Ana hardly knew what it meant. Black Charlie clearly understood the bound pirate's words. He only laughed, for he was thoroughly enjoying his prisoner's despair. Boothe intended to punish Jack for Ana's impudence, and he planned to do so right before the lady's eyes. Smiling victoriously, Boothe handed the cat to one of his crew. "Three dozen," he repeated Jack's sentence.

"Belay tha'," the Irish pirate, Callaghan, interrupted. Ana's eyes instantly snapped to the man's scarred face, even Jack looked up, surprised. The men, who seconds before had been Boothe's loyal henchmen, immediately halted their progression, looking to Callaghan as a company of soldiers would look to their commanding officer.

"What d'ye mean countermanding me order?" Boothe roared.

The Irishman, hand on the hilt of his curved sword, stepped forward. "I merely wish t' remind ye _Capt'n_ tha we're 'ear for a share in tha ruby. Your quest for revenge is your own."

Black Charlie snarled at the insolent pirate, but Callaghan stood fast, undaunted. "Ye'd see me ruby, then?"

"Aye, as a show of your good faith. Then, we'd be only too 'appy to tear this man apart," the Irishman declared, looking to the crew. "Right, boys?" Each man raised his fist above his head, shouting their agreement.

Boothe nodded his acquiescence. "Fine," he stared hungrily back at Jack. "Take the lady below, an' I'll find out where to go to find it."

Without a salute, or any show of respect, Callaghan turned back to Ana, took hold of her arm, and steered her to the stairs leading below decks. Before she was out of sight or hearing, Boothe stepped up to Jack and hit him full on the face, snapping his neck to the side. "Me ruby, Sparrow. Where is she?" he said, hitting Jack again.

Ana fought against the Irish pirate, but Callaghan easily overpowered her, taking her down a second set of steps. "What will they do to him?" Ana demanded, once she was far enough below decks so that neither Charles nor Jack could hear the fear in her voice. The man didn't answer. He didn't even look at her until they reached the part of the ship outfitted with cells. "What will they do if he doesn't tell them where that bloody ruby is?" Ana repeated her question as the pirate shoved her through one of the cell doors.

"Hope it doesn't come t' tha," he said, finally bothering to meet the lady's eye. In doing so, Ana saw that the Irishman was gravely serious.

She'd seen firsthand what Boothe had done to her brother as punishment. If Jack didn't produce the answers Black Charlie was looking for, the same fate awaited him. Ana cringed as she thought of the callousness required to inflict such pain on another, callousness that brought to mind the first time she'd ever seen Jack, shattered by the malice of an evil Spaniard. The same degree of sour blood coursed through Boothe's veins. If Jack didn't willingly hand over the ruby's whereabouts, Boothe would take the information out of his flesh. It was through fear that Boothe kept control. Fear that kept his enemies agreeable and his crew loyal, except for one.

Ana had only known a handful of Irishmen in her lifetime. Most were the stereotypical drunken sots that her father had always warned her about. Criminals with an unquenchable thirst for wine and women, not worth the air they breathed. This one with the deeply scarred face and the prematurely gray hair, however, seemed different. At least, Ana desperately wanted him to be different, seeing as he could be her and Jack's only hope for escape.

"You defied your Captain. Why?" Ana asked.

Callaghan shrugged, locking the door to Ana's cell. "E's no' _my_ Capt'n."

"You sail on his ship."

The pirate scoffed, as he moved to the opposite side of the hold. Scooping a ladle of water from a barrel near the door into a tin cup, he returned to hand the cup to Ana. "I'll sail on any man's ship, for the right price," he said, winking.

Ana scowled audibly, taking the water. "Money," she spat. "Can it really be worth all you will have given up to get it?"

"Ah," Callaghan began, stepping back and crossing his arms. Standing thus, the Irishman almost looked like her brother when he was in his characteristic you-can-argue-with-me-but-you-won't-win mode. "Spoken like someone's never been withou' it."

"Mercenary," Ana said the word as though it were a curse.

"Aye," the silver-haired pirate nodded. "An' a good one, too."

Ana's eyes narrowed, the spark of an idea beginning to take root in her brain. "And, mercenary's can be bought." Callaghan had stepped in and stopped Boothe from flogging Jack within an inch of his life. Granted, his reasons hadn't been anywhere near pure, but this was a greedy man, not a vicious one. He wanted gold not blood. Perhaps he was not so different from the pirate she was trying to save. And, if Callaghan was anything like Jack, then he could be reasoned with.

"What is it tha' ye 'ave t' offer that can compare with a share in the Heart o' Capt'n Morgan?"

"I'll give you your life." Callaghan's brow rose. "My brother or Jack Sparrow will kill you for mistreating me. I'll see to it that doesn't happen."

Half of the Irish pirate's face lifted into a smile. "The uniform ye wear doesn't suit ye," he said, gazing up and down the midshipman's clothes that Ana still wore. "Even though ye fill it quite nicely." Ana pursed her lips. "Wha's yer name?"

The lady's expression softened. "Anamaria," she said. "Why?"

The pirate grunted a laugh. "Well, Anamaria, ye may wear the King's uniform, but ye've the heart of a pirate."

The Irishman was making fun of her, but Ana hoped that the lightening of his mood was a hopeful sign. "Then, you'll help me?"

"No." Ana's face fell. "Fer, I've the heart of a pirate, as well. An' there isn't room for anyone else in the heart of a pirate."

The lady thought of Jack. "You're wrong." There was room for another in a pirate's heart. She was in Jack's heart, wasn't she?

Callaghan bowed thoughtfully. "Pray that I am."

Ana was about to try another tack with the Irishman, but, before she could think of a new course of action, two other sailors entered the hold pulling Jack along with them. He was still relatively unharmed. Apparently, Boothe had not reopened the cat once she and Callaghan left the maindeck. His lip was split and blood ran out in a small stream from his mouth. He seemed to favor his right side when the sailors ushered him into Ana's cell, but he was nowhere near as bad as she'd feared.

"Did ye tell 'im?" Callaghan asked Jack, once the other men had re-locked the door and exited the brig.

Leaning his back against the ship's hull, Jack slid down to the floor. "I did not," he said defiantly. "An' I won't."

"You're a fool," the Irishman said, shaking his head sadly.

"Aye," Jack agreed, grinning deviously. "But, I'm a fool with a very large ruby." Having no response for Sparrow's declaration, Callaghan simply left the pirate and his lady to themselves.

"Jack," Ana started, kneeling beside him. "Are you alright?"

Instead of answering, the pirate sprung to his feet, no longer looking like a man who'd just taken a beating. Glowering down at Ana, his arms flew out from his sides. "Are ye daft, woman?" he sputtered, as though she'd just asked him to fly. "What were ye thinking sendin Scotty away with bloody Norrington!"

Ana rose to her feet, planting her hands on her hips. "Call me crazy, Jack, but I thought you'd appreciate my saving you. He was ready to turn you over for a bounty," she explained through a tightly clenched jaw. "I know it's hard to admit, but Prescott betrayed you."

Jack rolled his eyes elaborately. "No, he didn't."

88888

Standing on the beach, Prescott Tarret stared back to _Loyalty_, his ship. The ship that would be embarking without him. He wondered what would happen now, to Jack and Annie. Would his brother tell Annie that Prescott's supposed betrayal had been part of the plan? Would Jack explain that Prescott had meant to bring Norrington to _Loyalty_ all along, and that not telling her was the only way to fool James? Annie's reaction had to be real, or Norrington, who'd known her since she was fifteen, would see right through the whole scheme. Prescott shook his head. He'd gotten what he wanted. His sister's reaction had been genuine, all right. She genuinely turned him over to be hanged, and she genuinely hated him for what he appeared to have done to Jack.

"Can I get anything for you, Sir?" Mr. Billings asked as he dumped an armful of firewood onto the sand.

The former officer smiled sadly, somewhat grateful to the young officer for giving a damn about what a condemned man might need. "Wouldn't happen to have a ship and a crew I could borrow, would you?"

The lieutenant laughed as he set to work building a fire. "Prescott," James Norrington had walked over to stand beside his former colleague. Shuffling his boots in the sand, James too looked out to _Loyalty_. "I am sorry that it had to happen like this."

"What's wrong, old boy," Prescott quipped. "Sorry you didn't get the chance to shoot me?" After all that had transpired, Prescott should have been nicer to James. The man wasn't doing cartwheels up and down the shore at the prospect of sending Prescott to the gallows even though he had every right to be that excited. Instead, Norrington had been gracious enough to offer his sympathies. But, damn it, Prescott didn't want anyone's sympathies. He wanted to go back in time and take a gamble on Annie's acting abilities. He wanted his bloody plan to have worked. He didn't want to die.

"We've a few days sailing back to Kingston," Delaney's voice interjected from somewhere behind. "Captain Norrington may still have his chance, if your past behavior's any indication of what the future holds."

Prescott turned and glared at the Admiral. "Must you wag your tongue just to listen to the noise it makes?" If that self righteous egotistical son of a bitch thought Prescott Tarret was going to sit back and let him gloat over this sorry excuse for a victory, well, he had another thing coming. Their uneasy alliance was over, and the pirate inside was going to make sure Shane Delaney knew that Prescott had wiped higher quality excrement off of the soles of his boots.

Billings dropped the bundle of wood he'd been working with. The poor man had probably never heard such words said to an Admiral. Delaney's face flushed. "I warn you to mind – "

"Mind what I say?" Prescott interrupted. "Or you'll what? Hang me twice!"

"Prescott," Norrington spoke up. "You're understandably upset …"

The pirate's eyebrow rose and the Naval captain abruptly shut his mouth. Prescott was upset, but neither James nor Shane could _understand_ how he felt. Inside a week, he would be cold, and dead, buried in the mass graves outside of Kingston with all the rest of the criminals. No service. No honors. No headstone. Nothing. Captain Sir Prescott Tarret, hero of the Royal Navy, would be gone, replaced by the gossip worthy stories of a gentleman turned pirate.

"You're thick as a brick wall, Delaney," Prescott declared. "I would've handed you Jack Sparrow, Charles Boothe, and Morgan's damnedable ruby on a silver platter. You would've been the richest man in the colonies." The Admiral's face twisted into a deep frown. Prescott sighed. "All I wanted was a piece of paper that assured the Navy would leave me alone." Norrington turned from Prescott to Shane, apparently wondering just what the Admiral had forgone in exchange for the former officer's execution. Billings stared openly at the pirate, the half built fire forgotten. "With prizes like those in your belt, the King would've given you a Lordship and half of Jamaica."

"You think I was doing this for the reward?" Delaney asked, acting extremely offended.

"No. Of course not," Prescott threw his arm into the air. "You're bringing me back to Kingston because you're a pillar of morality and this is just the right thing to do," the former officer's words dripped with sarcasm.

The Admiral crossed his arms. "I'm taking you into custody because I don't need you anymore, Tarret," he said, a self-satisfied smirk appearing on his well manicured visage. "I'm not giving up Sparrow, Boothe, or the ruby. I most certainly am not letting your sister go. I merely am adding your illustrious self to the kitty."

_Proud bastard_. Prescott fell silent. He had been wondering why the supposedly love struck Admiral had left _Loyalty_ without Annie. It appeared, his sister was not the only one who had been bent on completely foiling his plans. The slippery Naval commander had made a few plans of his own.

"I intend to take Sparrow and Boothe into custody when the come ashore," Delaney went on. "I imagine your sister will be with them, don't you think?"

Prescott had no intention of dignifying Shane's comment with an answer. _Scurvy dog_.

"Why will they be coming ashore?" Norrington questioned, speaking up for the first time since Prescott and Shane had started their verbal duel.

"For the ruby, of course," Delaney's smile broadened. The man was quite pleased with himself. James, at a loss for words, opted for a face of utter confusion. "You see, Captain Norrington, I had made a deal with Tarret." Prescott glared at Delaney. "In return for his privateer's commission, he would turn over Sparrow and Boothe. He would give custody of Sparrow to you, as he tried to do, and Prescott would bring Boothe to shore for the ruby. When they were ashore, you and I and the marines would take custody of Boothe."

"Two pirates were not enough to sate your boss" Prescott chimed in.

"Fine," Norrington said, attempting to prevent another verbal scuffle between Prescott and the Admiral. "Where is the ruby, then?"

"Mr. Tarret will tell us."

"Oh, will he, indeed?" Prescott scoffed. "I'm on my way to the hemp rope. What makes you think I have any inclination to be charitable?"

"You will hang, Tarret, whether you help me or not," Shane said, sounding very proud of that fact. "However, if you reveal the location of the Heart of Captain Morgan, I will arrange for a private execution to save your family name."

Now, Prescott laughed a loud strange laugh, the laugh of a man who is falling from a tall cliff and knows he's going to die but cannot do anything about it. The laugh of a madman. Billings and Norrington gaped at the former officer. Delaney frowned. "My family name!" the pirate exclaimed when he'd finally recovered himself enough to speak. "My dear baby sister has run off with Charles Boothe and Jack Sparrow. What's more, she's done it in trousers! Short of relieving myself over top a painting of the King, there isn't much I can do to further besmirch my family name." Delaney scowled. "Speaking of which," Prescott went on. "I believe I'll go spend a bit of time with nature right now," he said and began stalking up the beach towards the tree line.

"Not without an armed guard, you won't," Shane announced, seemingly happy to have such power over Prescott's actions.

The former officer spun around, burning embers in his cool blue eyes. "Decent of you to offer additional arms, seeing as I've only got the one, but I can manage on my own," he paused, bringing his finger to his chin, imitating Jack Sparrow for the second time this evening. "I probably could use the help cutting my food at mealtimes, though, so don't let those extra arms wander too far."

"We cannot risk you escaping," Norrington put in, assuming the role of peacekeeper and mediator.

"Well, James, you could always place me in irons," Prescott snarled, holding out his only arm.

Admiral Delaney pursed his lips. "A fine idea, Tarret," he said. "Lieutenant, to be so good as to fetch a pair of irons, will you. Oh, and a length of chain."

Casting an anxious glance at Prescott, Mr. Billings nodded. "Aye, Sir," he said, hurrying to follow orders.

"With all do respect Admiral," Norrington stepped in between Shane and Prescott. "He only has – "

"He still has two ankles, does he not?"

Delaney's voice was cool, controlled. His tone was perfectly unemotional, designed to get a rise out of the Prescott. The former officer almost broke, almost allowed himself to be goaded into a fight. The pirate in Prescott raged in silence, screaming to have a go at the sickeningly smug Admiral. Despite this inner ferocity, Prescott was careful to keep his face impassive. He was not giving Delaney the satisfaction of knowing he'd struck a chord, that he'd succeeding in utterly humiliating the pirate.

Billings returned, holding the irons out in front of his body as though they reeked of some unbearable stench. "Shackle his ankle. Then, chain him to the tree," Shane commanded. The lieutenant knelt somewhat reluctantly to follow instructions. If Prescott would have been looking anywhere besides the Admiral's mildly happy face, he would have seen the apology in Billings' sad eyes or the horror in Norrington's expression. However, the pirate's glare was reserved for only one man. Delaney smiled thinly and approached Prescott. "We'll see if the sea dog can escape his leash this time."

Not knowing a curse vile enough to throw at Delaney, Prescott spat in his face.

Wiping the spittle from his cheek, Shane smiled again. An evil, hateful grin. "It would be a shame, wouldn't it, if the prison guards forgot to feed you in while you lie in your cell awaiting execution," he said, chuckling. "He still requires an escort if he leaves your sight, Captain Norrington," Delaney demanded as he turned and began walking away from the man who's pride he'd dismantled.

"Aye, aye, Sir," James responded, his voice dry from the amount of time his jaw had hung open. "Mr. Billings, see to it." Norrington turned as well, and walked the opposite direction along the beach, seemingly appalled by what he'd just witnessed.

Prescott, suddenly very tired from shouldering the heap of insults Delaney had thrown at him, trudged towards the trees. How he wished to be alone, so he could simply fall to his knees and fall apart. He'd never been in so deep a pit of despair that he couldn't see the light. He could hear the dumbfounded lieutenant following behind him, so when he reached the sparse tree line, he was forced to do what he'd said he meant to do. In truth, he'd had no call of nature, he had only wanted to retreat to some degree of solitude. He wanted to give his aching body respite. He wanted to nurse his dying pride back to life. He wanted to call on the Almighty for courage and strength, for nothing short of a miracle would save him from the doom that awaited in Kingston. He was a dead man, he just didn't want to accept it yet.

"Well, Mr. Billings," Prescott said over his shoulder, where the lieutenant stood waiting for him to finish. "What do you think of heroism now?" Completing the task before him, Prescott turned back to the younger officer. "What is your opinion of this fictional character from the pages of the Gazette, after all this?" He was bitter. He was tired, and he wished someone else would feel as broken as he did.

Billings didn't respond right away. He simply let sad eyes fall to the shackle around Prescott's ankle. "I don't expect that you'll tell me," he said at last. "But it wasn't true what Delaney said, was it? You weren't really going to turn Sparrow over to Captain Norrington … were you?"

The former Navy captain sighed, expelling some of his cynicism for the moment. Billings had been the one man who was decent towards Annie aboard _Interceptor_, even going so far as to be friendly. This lieutenant was the one man who was willing to lend aid to the crippled pirate. He deserved to be treated the same way by Prescott. "No," he said quietly. "I wasn't. I couldn't." Jack's face swam in front of Prescott's eyes. He would miss the man who'd become his brother.

"What would you do, Sir?" Billings asked, his attitude suddenly changing. "To escape."

Prescott produced a thin smile. "I would, quite literally, give my right arm for freedom, Mr. Billings," he said. "However," he paused to rattle the chain around his ankle. "In this case, I believe cutting off my leg to be free of these shackles would do more harm than good in the long run." Delaney had thought of everything. He knew that Prescott would go to any lengths to escape, and he'd taken the precautions to make sure that didn't happen.

"Anything, then," the lieutenant said.

"Not that I mind your company, Mr. Billings, but the longer I stay in your custody the more certain the noose. So, yes, I would do anything to be rid of you, Delaney, Williams, and Captain Norrington." Prescott sighed. He knew that a man with injuries such as his, with only one arm would almost certainly be recaptured. If not, he'd die some other way before reaching any point of safety. His chances would be one in a million, but at least he'd have the smallest glimmer of hope. "I'd rather take my chances anywhere but here," he thought aloud.

Billings shifted his weight uncomfortably. He looked up at Prescott, then away again. "Would you even take me on, … as one of your crew? Would you do that to escape."

Take Billings on as part of his crew? What in the hell was the lieutenant talking about. Prescott turned to the young officer just as Billings was taking something out of his pocket. The pirate gasped as Billings opened his hand and held out a key.

Not _a_ key. _The _key. The key that would unlock the irons and gain Prescott his freedom. Through wide blue eyes, the pirate gaped at Billings. This had to be some sort of cruel jest. Why would a promising officer walk away from his career for a fable from the Naval Gazette. It was too good to be true. "This is treason, Mr. Billings," Prescott warned softly.

"You saved my father's life," Billings explained, shrugging with one shoulder. "What's the name of the crime I'd commit if I let them hang you?"

Prescott's heart began to beat faster. This was really happening. Billings was offering to help him. The younger man was giving Prescott his life back. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Perhaps he would not be so quick to discount the tales in the Naval rags in the future. "There's no going back. You'd never see your father again," the older man stared hard at Billings, trying to make him understand what he was doing. "You would not be welcome in your own country, in your own home. You'll be an enemy of England."

In place of answering, the lieutenant knelt down and unlocked the manacle around Prescott's ankle. The heavy metal chinked as it fell to the ground. Prescott could taste freedom on the tip of his tongue. "I'll be able to sleep at night," Billings said simply.

TBC

Well, it's a long one, but I didn't think anyone would mind.

SylviaD: You're probably right, Prescott should have forseen Annie trying to protect Jack, but remember that Ana snuck aboard the _Interceptor_ in the first place. Pres hadn't figured her into his plans at all. He probably was relying on the fact that he's her big brother and she should trust him. And what Ana did here was kind of unforseeable. She had tried to help Jack in the past, but never at the detriment of her brother. I think Pres knew she'd be angry at him and probably try to convince him to change his mind, but she sent him to the gallows, and _that_ he did not forsee.

An-Angel-In-Hell: Well, what do you think of ol' Scotty, now?

Rose of England: Ana's actions were definitely admirable, even though she certainly steered her and Jack right into harms way. She is just a pirate in training right now, though, so cut her some slack. She may figure someway out of the mess she's made.

Cal: Worried about Ana's reaction if we all hug Jack, eh? Well, is it just me who thinks even a warm handshake from Captain Sparrow would be a bit naughty! I'm almost shocked to see I've made you angry with Ana, but she did kinda play the fool last chapter didn't she? Like I said to Rose of England, she's still a freshman pirate. She turns into one of the fiercest pirates in the West Indies, so I'm betting she learns from her mistake and hurries to right (I spelled right correctly this time!) the wrongs she's done. So, you also seemed very confident that Pres was not really betraying Jack ... I wonder why that is? I'll think on it for awhile, you go read the chappy!

Yuna-Flowering: Well, things do have a way of working themselves out. I'm glad I've still managed to keep you guessing on just how they work out!

Ailidh: Don't worry about the length of your review, I'm just happy to see you're still with me. I'm still reading your work as well, but I'm a bad reviewer sometimes too. So so sorry. I'm glad you enjoy what I'm doing with this, and I'm so happy to hear that the details don't go unappreciated.

Freak87: Ana sure is the wild card in this mix. I don't know if Pres will ever figure her out, poor guy. As for why Ana doesn't turn Boothe over to the authorites right along with Pres, well, I don't think she sees anyway to save Jack if she turns over Boothe and his crew. Her and Jack can't sail a ship all by themselves, so she figures she needs Boothe and his men. Also, she's never negotiated with pirates before. Kind of like Elizabeth telling Barbossa to leave Port Royal and never come back. Sorry, to leave you hanging about why Delaney just up and left. I hope this update explained his actions a bit.

Thanks all of you for your kind feedback. You keep me going!


	24. A New Plan

Disclaimer: I don't own PotC or anything you recognize from PotC.

**Chapter Twenty-Four: "A New Plan"**

"Call me crazy, Jack, but I thought you'd appreciate my saving you. Prescott was ready to turn you over for a bounty," Anamaria explained through a tightly clenched jaw. "I know it's hard to admit, but he betrayed you."

Jack rolled his eyes elaborately. "No, he didn't."

The pirate's voice reverberated throughout the small hold, sharp as the sound of the first cannon in a battle cutting through the misty morning air. Ana froze, her mouth hanging open. Her next retort dried up and faded away into nothingness. "He didn't?" she stammered instead.

"No," Jack said, so definitively that all the dozens of arguments in favor of Prescott being a no good, turncoat vanished from Ana's mind.

Jack was angry. No, not angry. He was completely enraged. He was hiding it well, beneath a façade of exasperated irritation, but his eyes couldn't lie to her. Those black eyes begged her for some explanation as to why she ever could have thought such things of Prescott, and, at the same time, he accused her of sending her not so traitorous brother to his death. The ruthless buccaneer that always lurked just behind Jack's happy go lucky demeanor was calling for blood. The man who loved Ana was barely containing that fury.

Staring at the pirate Captain who's hard earned trust was so completely in her brother, Ana marveled that she could have been anything but totally confident in Jack and Prescott. He was her brother for God's sake. He had only ever helped her in times of trouble. Sure, Prescott lied, and cheated. He probably stole, but he was her family, her friend. He redeemed himself for every crime when it came to his selfless love for his baby sister. Even if Jack had not been Prescott's top priority, he never could have betrayed the pirate because Jack was Ana's top priority. Prescott wouldn't leave Jack alone in the lion's den because Ana loved him. No matter what payoff awaited, Prescott simply would not risk being the cause of pain in his sister's life.

But, he'd been so bloody convincing. The way he'd acted so differently after finding Jack in her cabin. The dead emptiness in his eyes as he told Norrington that Jack Sparrow was his for the taking. And the privateer's commission … the Letter's of Marque had been authentic. James Norrington would've known forged papers a mile away. "But," Ana's voice was thin, irresolute. "He said – "

"He said a lot of things," Jack interrupted. "He was lying." Turning, the pirate wrapped his hands around the bars of their cell, leaning his head against the iron. Closing his eyes, he expelled a long, deep breath. "How many times 'ave ye said what a great liar, 'e is?"

Ana could almost hear her own voice saying those words. Telling Jack not to underestimate her brother's prowess at the delicate art of deception. Prescott lied all the time, in his personal life and God only knew how often in his professional life. He'd lied to cover up the fact that his wife had been with child at the time of their marriage. He had lied about helping a pirate escape the clutches of Spain. He'd lied to his King, the good men at Admiralty, and to friends like James Norrington. He'd lied to allies and enemies. But, Prescott had never lied to her. "How was I supposed to know that this was all part of some hopelessly complex scheme?" she demanded, becoming defensive. "How was I supposed to figure out that his disloyalty was all an act?"

Pushing away from the support of the cell's bars, Jack faced his lady. "You weren't," he said, visibly trying to calm himself enough to offer some kind of explanation. "We 'ad to fool Norrington," he said, his voice low, steady, and without any traces of his characteristic pirate accent. "Scotty wanted you to be angry. He wanted you to ask him what in the hell he was doing." Jack's words grew louder as he began pacing like a caged tiger. "He wanted you to defend me, to curse his name and say that you'd never be able to forgive him." The pirate stopped abruptly. "But, you weren't supposed to kill him … not for me."

Ana was about to insist that she could not possibly have known that the show Prescott put on in his cabin was all a charade, but she stopped short. _Not for me._ Jack wasn't angry at her for what she did. In later years, Ana would come to find that Jack always respected a person who acted incorrectly more than one who didn't act at all. He was angry for being the reason she did it, almost as though he didn't want to be more important than Prescott. Suddenly, Ana was not in the mood for a fight. She was through defending her actions. Stepping in front of Jack, halting his pacing, Ana placed her hands on either side of his face.

"You're right," she said, and he was. Ana was the one person who was supposed to be able to see the truth behind her brother's lying eyes. In days past, she had always seen the pain or anger or sadness behind Prescott's stoic veneer. He, and Jack, had counted on her seeing it this time. Prescott had put his faith in Ana's faith in him, and she'd let him down, falling prey to his lies just like everyone else. "I should've known," she went on. "Prescott just needed me to trust him, but I couldn't … I couldn't let him hurt you. So, I did what I thought I needed to."

The fierce pirate receded a bit from Jack's face. He stepped away from her touch. "Gotten us in a right fine mess, too, haven't ye love?" he said, still irritated, but not quite so angry. "Really turned you're brother's plan on it's ear."

"I don't see how he could've had such a grand plan in the first place," Ana protested. "He was letting James march you right back to the marines."

"Aye, an' as bloody Norrington was leavin' Scotty was going t' tell him t' go to a certain spot on the island where Morgan's ruby just happened t' be. Then, Scotty would take Boothe there, Norrington would ambush him, and Scotty and I would escape in the confusion."

"What if James wasn't so easily confused."

Jack made a face that seemed to ask why she insisted upon being so daft. "James Norrington thinks the sun shine out your brother's …" Jack paused. Ana quirked an eyebrow, daring him to finish that thought. "If he 'ad Boothe, 'e wouldn't 'ave cared if he 'ad Scotty an' me or not," the pirate said gruffly.

"Well, I'm assuming the ruby is still on that island somewhere."

"Course it is."

"Boothe won't leave without it," she declared. Jack nodded, his expression indicating that Ana needn't go on stating the obvious. "Well, what are we waiting for? We have to stop him and rescue Scot – er Prescott," she said.

"I know that!" Jack said, throwing his arms up in the air. "But, seeing as you've gone ahead an' got us stuck in rather disagreeable accommodations, I'm no' exactly sure how we're goin' t' accomplish said task!" The pirate was starting to resurface again.

Ana only barely stifled the urge to tell Jack to remain calm, knowing what effect that sentiment could have on the volatile Captain. "No prison is impregnable," she said, instead. There were not enough men on this ship to guard all possible exits. And, after her conversation with Callaghan, Ana knew Boothe may not have enough control over those men, even if there had been enough of them. All she and Jack had to do was rattle the already unsteady partnership between Black Charlie and the Irishman. "That man who stopped Boothe up on deck, the Irish one," Ana started. "Have you ever run into him before?" She still wondered why exactly he had cared one way or the other if Boothe beat Jack senseless.

"Callaghan?" Jack said, "Is a mercenary who's sailed wit more ships than you've 'ad years on this earth. Everyone in the Caribbean's run into 'im a time or two, darling." Finally, stopping his repetitive pacing, Jack hunkered down on his heels, leaning his back against the bars and crossing his arms over his knees.

"What do you know about him?" Ana asked, hoping the pirate Captain could offer some tidbit that would tell her if the Irish mercenary could be convinced that helping in their escape was a more worthy cause than helping Boothe destroy her whole life.

Jack ran his hand over his face, pausing at the end of his chin where he no longer had a braided beard to toy with. "E' came down from Africa about eight or ten years ago," he started, slipping into his characteristic storytelling voice. "Tale goes 'e used t' be an assassin. Supposedly killed some sultan, tha's where 'e got that curved sword, and 'ad t' flee for his life. So, 'e came t' the West Indies and's been selling his sword t' the 'ighest bidder ever since. E's worked for everyone from East India, t' pirates, t' the Navy, t' private citizens."

"He hasn't any loyalties, then?"

"He's a mercenary," Jack answered, by way of explanation.

"So, why can't _we_ be the highest bidder?" Ana asked, kneeling down next to Jack, her face alight with the beginnings of a new plane. The pirate's brow lifted, questioning. "Boothe doesn't have the ruby. We do," she said. "Boothe's promising Callaghan and his men a share in something he doesn't have and doesn't know how to find."

Jack seemed to consider Ana's reasoning. A slow smile spread across his handsome face. "If we promise 'im a share in Morgan's ruby, what's stopping 'im from helping us?" he reiterated the lady's idea. "No' bad, love."

Ana rested her hand on Jack's arm, her smile matched his own. "From you, Captain Sparrow, I take that as a high compliment."

88888

"I'll thank ye never t' go against me orders in front of the men, again," Boothe demanded, as soon as the mercenary he'd employed stepped into his borrowed cabin. The man had done nothing but cause problems since they left Port Royal, and Black Charlie was through putting up with his insolence. The damnedable Irishman was going to learn who was in charge on this ship, once and for all. He stood up from where he'd sat behind Prescott Tarret's ebon wood desk, knocking the chair over behind him. "On this ship, I give the order's, no' you!"

The mercenary rested his hand easily on the hilt of his curved sword. The blade on that ridiculous weapon was half a wide as the sword was long. Callaghan called it a falchion, but Boothe hadn't a clue what that meant. Stepping forward with a casual laziness that was infuriating, Callaghan sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. "The men don't follow a Capt'n," he sneered. "They follow the gold in his purse."

Boothe gritted his teeth. Callaghan was insinuating that he should tread softly, or the men may turn on him. The Irishman was threatening to lead the men against Black Charlie, because he seemed to think they owed more loyalty to a mercenary than to a pirate. "They'll 'ave no choice but t' follow me, if I kill their leader." Boothe could make threats of his own, if he had to. "I'd advise ye sleep wit one eye open."

"I already do," the Irishman said, not at all shaken by Boothe's menacing pirate act. "It's you tha' needs t' be on his guard, for you've made a pair of dangerous enemies." Leaning forward, the Irishman rose again to his feet planting his hands atop the desk that stood between him and Boothe. "Jack Sparrow may look a fool, but 'e's no less a pirate – "

"Jack Sparrow is locked in the brig," Charles interrupted, having about all he could take. "I can shoot 'im down like an animal any time I wish, and, if ye were includin' Prescott Tarret in that pair, might I remind ye tha' 'e's on 'is way to a noose in Kingston."

"Hold on t' your confidence," Callaghan warned, turning to leave. "You'll need 'er."

"We aren't finished, till I say we are," Boothe insisted.

The Irishman, who'd already opened the door turned back to Black Charlie. "We're finished when I get my money," he said, before exiting, slamming the door behind him.

88888

The night had turned black as the pitch used to patch up holes on his ship. James Norrington didn't know if the darkness was cause more by the cloudy, starless night or his foul temperament. The only light came from the campfires built up on the shore, and the lanterns on _Loyalty_ anchored just off the beach. Around the fires, marines were swapping stories, undoubtedly about the once Naval hero that had turned traitor. James could just hear them discussing why a respected Captain would become a pirate. The general consensus being that Prescott Tarret had lost his mind.

Shifting his gaze, James watched the sea water lapping up onto the sand. He was standing just close enough so that the saltwater covered the toes of his boots, no doubt ruining their shine. He almost couldn't understand his melancholy. Rowing out to _Loyalty_ less than an hour ago, James had hated Prescott, probably still hated him if he'd given it any thought. He'd been ready to kill the man, himself, wanting to see him pay for his crimes more than anyone. But, he never really thought it would happen. Prescott had lived his whole life dancing on the edge, but James never though he'd live to see the great Captain's fall.

If he told the truth, he never wanted to see Prescott fall. It would have been nice to see him fail a time or two, but not a failure so utterly complete. James did not want to watch a sister sentence her brother to death. He did not want to see a man with only one arm chained to a tree. He didn't want to watch his friend hang in the town's square, condemned by the people that used to worship him.

Norrington had never had a brother, only three sisters, but if he'd been asked to pick one out for himself, he would have picked Prescott. For everything about the former officer, that James didn't understand or approve of, there were a hundred qualities that James wished he had. He, like every marine sitting up and down the shore, could not fathom why Prescott would've turned pirate. He believed that Prescott should not evade punishment for his treason, time and time again. But, in spite of everything, in spite of all the lies, Captain Tarret was a good man, and James couldn't stomach Admiral Delaney's unquenchable desire for blood.

"You're thinking that all of this doesn't quite seem fair, aren't you?" Sir George, who had been standing silently behind Norrington for some time, finally spoke up. He stepped closer to the younger Captain, doubtless, so that they could speak without being overheard.

James shook his head. "That's just it," he said. "This is fair. Captain Tarret is a pirate, and pirates hang."

"But Captain Tarret was a friend."

"One of a small number," James admitted.

"And, you think he should be punished, but not like this," Captain Williams voiced Norrington's thoughts exactly.

"If you'll permit me to speak freely, Sir," James said. "It seems that the Admiral is driven by revenge, not justice."

"What drives Admiral Delaney isn't your concern. He's your superior officer," Sir George reminded him gently, not actually rebuking the lower ranking Captain. "We must follow his orders, whether or not we agree with them."

James didn't miss Williams subtle shift in speech, saying _we_ not _you_. Covertly, the older Captain seemed to be agreeing with Norrington. Delaney was going to hang Prescott and Sparrow. He intended to capture Boothe and acquire the legendary Heart of Captain Morgan. He probably would blackmail Annie into marrying him. If only something could be done to stop him.

"Marines!" the Admiral's voice shouted somewhere up the beach.

Norrington turned just in time to see Delaney standing near the tree line, holding a chain that ended in an unoccupied shackle. Sir George cleared his throat, staring suspiciously at the younger officer. James shook his head and shrugged. "I've no idea what's happened, Sir," he said, quite honestly.

"Well, we'd better go find out," Williams said, his tone an order rather than a request.

James followed, unable to keep the smile from appearing on his lips. "Well met, Prescott," he mouthed.

TBC

Yes, I know it's been a long time and this was kind of a shorter chapter. Here's my excuse, if you're interested, my parents were staying with me the past two weeks. More time spent in the real world, less time to spend writing. So, sorry. Anyway, Tuesday was my birthday and my husband bought me a brand spanking new journal so I went back to writing with a renewed vigor and this is what you get!

Fearlessfreak: Glad to hear from you and you know it makes me so happy to hear that you all like Prescott as much as I do!

Cal: My dear, if you were languishing during the last wait I cannot imagine what you went through during this gap. I beg your forgiveness and offer this chappy with lots of Jack and Ana interaction! Now, to answer some of your comments, I know you felt like screaming at Ana "Come on, this is Pres!" Go read the chappy and I think she addresses why she believed his deceit. As for Ana forgetting what Charlie did to Pres, well, yeah she kind of did. Do remember that Pres is such a wonderful liar, and he hates being dependent on anyone else. He's putting on such a show for everyone else, trying to convince mainly Boothe that he's right as rain, that Ana was probably starting to wonder how hurt he really was. Lastly, I hope that you, or anyone else, weren't too offended by Ana's thoughts regarding the Irish, or the French and Spanish for that matter. I hope I don't need to say that these are the views of 17th and 18th century England, not my own personal views.

SylviaD: To answer your question, technically, Jack could've intervened on Pres' behalf. However, since it was all an act and Pres was planning to double cross Boothe, Jack didn't want to give that part of their plan away. They were on a ship controlled by Boothe and his men, and understandibly, Boothe wouldn't be too happy to hear that the boys were intending to screw him over. Maybe Jack figured Pres had better odds against the Navy than againstBoothe, remembering what happened last time Pres was at Boothe's mercy. I'm also very happy to hear that you like Billings. I'm really starting to like him, too!

Yuna-Flowering: Yay, everyone likes Billings. You warm an author's heart! As for your request, well all I can say is the devil usually gets his due, doesn't he?

Freak87: Yeah, in hindsight, Pres should've included Ana in his plan. But, she's such a wild card, I don't think he could've ever forseen that she would react the way she did. As for Delaney leaving Ana on Boothe's ship, well, I think beating Pres has become his central focus. Sure, he cares about Ana, but he is a 17th century Navy man, and duty, and professional gain will always be more important than a woman. Awful, isn't it.

Thanks for all the reviews. I can't wait for your feedback for this chappy!


	25. Irish

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from PotC.

**Chapter Twenty-Five "Irish"**

Anamaria watched in tense anticipation the next time the Irish pirate entered the brig. She hated hinging her plan on another man's actions, but, as Jack had so eloquently pointed out, she'd left them no choice. They were imprisoned by a sadistic madman and, without Callaghan's help, they would be doomed to stay imprisoned. So, she would watch. She would wait.

Callaghan, when he did finally arrive after ages of waiting, came alone, carrying two plates of wretched smelling stew. Silently, he slid the food beneath the bars to the pair of prisoners. Ana shot Jack a glare, which he casually ignored. The pirate Captain had agreed to go along with her plan, to try to enlist Callaghan's aid, on one condition, that Jack be the one to do all of the talking. Taking into account the fact they were only in this latest predicament because Ana had said the wrong things at the wrong times, she had decided that maybe Jack should be the one making the deals. But, the idiot wasn't saying anything. He was just going to let their only hope for escape turn and walk out of the hold. Clearing her throat and catching Jack's eye, she questioned his silence with raised eyebrows. Jack, who was seated on the opposite side of their cell, back to the wall and legs crossed in front of him, only shrugged. She was beginning to regret her decision.

The Irishman went to the water barrel, lifting the ladle in a questioning gesture. Ana nodded, "Please," she said, her voice cracking the quiet like thunder.

Callaghan grunted a laugh, "Manners on a pirate ship." He paused, shaking his head, "You are misplaced, indeed."

Taking the proffered cup of water, Ana smiled devilishly. Now, it was she ignoring Jack's glare. He'd warned her that dealing with mercenaries was delicate business. _One has to watch what one says or one will end up hanging oneself_, the pirate's voice reminded from inside of her head. _Well,_ Ana silently retorted, _If one would get off his bum and do something, maybe I wouldn't have to! _"I can have perfect manners …When it suits me," she concluded, winking.

"And, then again, no' so misplaced," the Irishman amended. Leaning his arms on the bars so his hands hung inside of the cell, Callaghan regarded Ana with narrowed eyes. "Migh' even make a fine mercenary," he was saying, his eyes wandering to Jack as though he were trying to rile the pirate Captain. He needn't have bothered, for Ana seemed to be doing a fine job of setting Jack on edge, without any help from Callaghan.

The lady, however, had stopped listening to the mercenary's teasing comments. Instead, Ana was noticing, for the first time, the tattoo on the inside of the his wrist. A cross, of Celtic design, covered about five inches of his forearm. The cross itself was of little interest to Ana, her attention was drawn to the pair of intertwining rings that had been drawn behind the religious symbol. _Interesting_, she thought, barely restraining herself from putting her finger to her chin and striking a classic Captain Jack pose. "A wedding cross," she said aloud, instantly regaining the Callaghan's full attention. "That's unexpected."

"Is it?" the Irishman spread his arms, looking down at the tattoo as if he hadn't noticed the ink in a long time, himself. "Why? Because you can't fathom a woman marryin' a paid killer?" Ana crossed her arms, lifting her chin to indicate that was exactly what she thought. "Well," Callaghan said, pulling his hands out of the cell. "She didn't. She married a carpenter, an' she died long before the mercenary's time."

Ana bit her tongue to keep from cursing at her major tactical blunder. She and Jack needed this man's help, and she had to go and bring up his dead wife. Maybe Jack was right, she should keep her mouth shut from now on. Turning to the pirate, still seated on the ground, she saw the same sentiment echoed in his black eyes. When he'd told her years ago that she would make a fine pirate herself, he neglected to mention how bloody hard it was.

Callaghan laughed, again. "Look's like you've said somethin' you shouldn't 'ave," he teased. "I'll save you further embarrassment," he said, bowing slightly. "I've no idea who my parents were, for I grew up in an orphanage. Ran away when I was eleven, managed to gain apprenticeship wit' a carpenter in the next town, married six years later, lost 'er after one more … an' I've been on the crooked road to ruin ever since."

If it had been anatomically possible, Ana would have kicked herself. "I'm sorry," she murmured, lowering her chin.

"Don't be," the Irishman said. "For, like a pirate," he paused, nodding to Jack. "A mercenary's got two lives. One tha' he lives ev'ry day, and another tha' he's had to forget." Ana sought the pirate Captain's face in time to see complete understanding in his eyes. "Now," Callaghan was going on, "Before you stumble onto any other dangerous territory, why not 'ave out with it."

"Out with it?" Ana repeated, becoming nervous and on guard. She could almost hear Jack's voice saying, _You've gone and done it again, haven't ye?_

Shrugging, Callaghan said, "I can't see you 'aving any real interest in the life an' times of a mercenary, so you must be stallin' for time cause you've got something else to say t' me. Prob'ly want t' strike up some sort o' bargain." He paused, once again looking to Jack. "Ow am I doin' so far?"

"No' bad," Jack said, speaking up for the first time as he rose to his feet. "So, if ye'd kindly get t' the part about us not possibly havin' anything ye could want cause ye've already got a stake in the Heart of Capt'n Morgan. I'd like t' get t' the part where I tell ye tha' you're wrong." The pirate Captain's voice was light, and sing song, just as Callaghan's had been, but Ana had no doubt that she was witnessing some sort of challenge between the two men. A verbal duel that could very well decide her fate. She didn't like it when deadly men pretended to be nonchalant.

The Irishman smiled. "Wrong, am I?" he said. "Alright, ye've still got my attention."

Now, Jack smiled. "No' exactly wrong," he started. "Boothe's promised ye part of tha' ruby, but Boothe hasn't got it. E doesn't know where t' find it. We do. Simple as tha." Jack shrugged with his hands spread apart from his body.

"Help the two of you get off this ship and my share in the ruby's assured, is tha' it?" Jack nodded. "Well," Callaghan went on. "Normally, I'd be very interested in anythin' tha'd get me to my money quicker, alas I'm afraid tha' present circumstances prevent me from bein' able t' do anything t' help the two of you."

"Present circumstances," Ana demanded, unable to keep quiet no matter what her better judgment was telling her. Jack rolled his eyes, probably thinking typical male thoughts about the impossibility of keeping a woman from speaking.

"Aye," Callaghan said. "As I'm sure a good little English girl's been told tha' an Irishman will make deals with the fox and the hound, an' leave both of 'em t' hang, but no' this Irishman."

She had been told that very thing about the Irish, and she'd actually been hoping that Callaghan was not that kind of Irishman. "What are you talking about?" Ana asked, not seeing how the popular saying related to their present situation.

The mercenary cocked his head to one side. "I owe very few debts in this life, dear Anamaria," he said. "An' I happen t' be in the middle of payin' one off as we speak. So, tha's the plan I'll be stickin' with." He paused. "I am sorry," he finished.

Unbelievable. The mercenary who loved money above all else, had just refused to help them because he was repaying some sort of debt. That was preposterous. Mercenaries did not care about being in anyone's debt. They only cared who was in theirs. If Callaghan thought she was going to believe that he was suddenly a man of his word, well … "You're sorry, alright," Ana accused. "You motherless – "

The lady's rather inventive curse was abruptly silenced by Jack's hand over top of her mouth. The pirate's black eyes were mere inches from her face, and his other hand was on her arm, no doubt in an attempt to prevent her from slapping him. Which, she would have done if she'd been able. "No' such a good idea t' insult a man we're in negotiations with, love," he said, seemingly trying to keep from raising his voice with the lady. "Alright?" he said.

Ana nodded, and the pirate tentatively removed his hand. "Negotiations," Ana said, as soon as Jack's palm lowered. "He said _No_. The filthy son of a ­– "

Fast as lightning, Jack's hand was back in place, covering Ana's mouth. She had an almost uncontrollable desire to bite him. The pirate Captain was annoyed with her, again, and seemed mere instants from totally losing his cool. "You're no' listening, darling," he said. "Callaghan said he couldn't 'elp us escape from the _ship_." Jack turned to look at the Irishman, who was wearing a maddening amused expression. "If we go t' shore t' find the ruby, will you're debt be repaid?"

The mercenary arched one eyebrow. A thin smile began to tug at his scarred lips. "Aye."

"I take yourself an' Boothe t' shore. The ruby is miraculously discovered," Jack began, still not daring to take his hand from Ana's mouth. "It's understandable tha' a man could become a bit lax in 'is guard duties, wit' all tha excitement."

"Findin' tha ruby would be quite exciting," the Irishman smiled, turning towards the door. "All kinds o' details could be overlooked." With that thought, Callaghan left the hold, not overlooking the detail of bolting the door behind him.

With his hand still firmly in place over Ana's lips, Jack turned his glare back to the lady. "Are ye tryin' t' make this 'arder than it has t' be," he said, his eyes wide and ablaze. Ana knew the pirate didn't expect, nor desire, any response, so she kept quiet even after he let his hand fall from her face. "I told ye tha' ye 'ad to be careful wit' mercenaries, an' ye decide t' bring 'is dead wife into the conversation an' then insult 'im!"

"How was I supposed to know he had a dead wife?" Ana was on the verge of pouting.

"No' the point, love," Jack said. "If ye would've just kept quiet, like we agreed, we wouldn't of had to worry about any of 'is dead relations!"

Ana could already see that she was going to detest the times when Jack was actually right. He was the pirate, after all. She did not know the first thing about negotiating with the people who dwelt in Jack's world. Still, all hadn't been lost. "He did agree to help us though," she said, defiantly. The pirate Captain's brow rose. "Didn't he?"

"E agreed tha' the plan could work. Tha's it."

"Oh," the lady could feel her face flushing from embarrassment.

"Oh," Jack said, quite obviously having the last word.

His point made, the pirate sat down, leaned his back against the bars, and began poking at the plate of stew that the Irishman had delivered. Ana, deciding she would have to be much hungrier before she braved the likes of Boothe's food, simply rested her chin on one of the bars and stared longingly at the door. No matter how impossible, she still half expected Prescott to come waltzing into the hold declaring that this had all been part of the plan. Her brother, however, was in no position to be lending a hand. He was on shore, somewhere, facing a death sentence handed down by his little sister.

Ana once again knelt beside the pirate. "He'll help us," she said, trying to sound self-assured. "This will work."

Jack stopped fiddling with his food. Eyes that were much more desperate than she would have liked, met Ana's. "It has to."

88888

"Why've we stopped?" Mr. Billings asked, an expression of worry firmly planted on his face.

Prescott, out of breath from covering the short distance between the marine's camp and the spot they now stood, pointed to the narrow opening in the rocky cliff that rose up in front of them. The damned ruby that had started this whole misadventure was inside that cave. The very same cave in which Prescott had met Boothe and Norrington earlier that evening. His vengeful heart was warmed ever so slightly by the fact that Boothe had been only steps away from the gem he most coveted and hadn't a clue.

Straightening shoulders that had slumped and prodding tired legs back into action, Prescott entered the cave. Billings followed. "The ruby's in here?" he asked.

"Over there," Prescott answered, gesturing to the pile of rocks he'd hastily thrown atop of one of the most valuable gems in existence. Such a poor hiding place, such a brilliant plan. Yet, the ruby remained safely tucked away, and his plan was in shambles. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned in all of this.

"Mind if I have a look?" the lieutenant asked.

All Prescott wanted was a few moments peaceful rest before Boothe or Norrington showed up to further complicate his life. What the lieutenant did during that time was of little concern to him. "Be my guest." The mix of fear and excitement on Billings face reminded Prescott of the way Mr. Daniels had looked only moments before Boothe had stolen his future. Daniels couldn't have been much older than Billings, and he'd been a damn fine sailor. Prescott shook his head as he sat his weary body down on a rock near the cave's entrance. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the rocky wall. _Such a waste_, he thought, picturing the faces of his crew, all gone to their graves because of one man: Charles Boothe.

On the other side of the cave, the younger man went to his knees, brushing the piled stones aside and finding the small leather pouch Jack had used to carry the gemstone. Turning the pouch over, the fabled Heart of Captain Morgan fell into Billings' hand. Dropping the bag, he turned the scarlet stone over and over in his hands, running fingers that had never known such wealth over the many facets. "It's not very big, is it?" he said absently.

"It's the largest cut ruby in the world," Prescott said, repeating what he'd heard. His head was starting to hurt, and he did not particularly feel up to a philosophical discussion about the gemstone. Still, he'd thought the same thing when he looked upon the ruby, now. The first time he'd seen it, after breaking a bottle of rum pulled from a man's casket, he'd been as mystified, and awestruck as any other man who'd ever laid eyes on Morgan's favorite piece of swag. But, now, after seeing the inside of Boothe's torture chamber, after the deaths of his crew and the loss of his arm, the small stone hardly seemed worth all the heartache.

"Large for a ruby," Billings clarified, his thoughts seemingly mirroring Prescott's. "But, it seems strange that all that's happened was caused by something so small that it fits in the palm of a man's hand." Moving to sit beside the former officer, Billings continued to stare, perplexed, at the ruby. He, like most that had listened to the dozens of tales told of the wealth of Henry Morgan, probably wanted the ruby to be larger than life, as the stories described. Prescott had heard townsfolk speak of the ruby as being larger than a person's head, unable to be carried by a single man. He, himself, had been somewhat disillusioned to find that the infamous gem could've been toted around quite easily by a child. "If you don't mind my asking, where did you find it?" Billings voice questioned.

Snorting a laugh that sounded more like a cough, Prescott said, "Port Royal."

"Under the Navy's noses since Morgan died," the lieutenant mused. Shaking his head, he stopped examining the ruby. "Now, what do we do?" he asked, changing the subject.

Prescott sighed. "We wait." Readjusting his position, and wincing as he did so, the pirate regarded his latest recruit. "Captain Norrington will remember this cave and will, sooner or later, revisit it."

"Are you alright, Sir?" Billings interrupted, not missing the tired, pained expression that had briefly passed over Prescott's face.

"I'm fine," the older man replied, brushing off the lieutenant's concern. He was not fine, and he doubted Billings believed him, but he couldn't be bothered with that now. He had to be ready for one or both unfavorable visitors to appear in the mouth of this cave. "Boothe will also come back to the island," he went on. "He thinks of the ruby as his own, and he will stop at nothing to reacquire his property."

"But, Boothe doesn't know where the ruby is. Does he?"

Prescott shook his head. "No, but Jack does," he said, ignoring the stab in his chest when he thought of the pirate Captain and his sister on _Loyalty_ with that monster. A chill ran down his spine. Annie had been in control of things when he was taken from _Loyalty_, but she was dealing in the life of piracy for the first time. Certainly she was a very capable woman, but Boothe was a man of uncommon cruelty and treachery. Prescott feared that Annie and Jack may not have enjoyed the upper hand for long.

"Captain Sparrow won't tell him where to look."

A shadow descended over the older pirate's blue eyes. "Boothe will make him," he said, unable to keep the penned up hatred from coloring his words.

88888

Anamaria turned hopeful eyes to the hold's door as she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. However, much to her dismay, Black Charlie Boothe, not Callaghan, entered the small brig. He was smiling, not a happy smile, but the smile of a man who knew what he wanted and how he was going to get it. Ana barely suppressed a shiver. It was an evil smile. Closing the door behind him, Boothe approached the cell. Jingling another set of keys, the vile pirate unlocked the cell door. "A word with ye, Capt'n Sparrow," he addressed the man who'd rose warily to his feet. He moved to leave the confines of his prison. "In private," Charles said, stopping the lady from following her Captain out of the cell. Relocking the door, iron bars now separated the pirate and his lady.

Boothe gestured towards the outer door to the hold, and Jack took a few steps towards the proposed spot. But, before he could get far, Black Charlie balled his hand into a meaty fist, and punched the pirate in the small of his back. Jack cried out, falling to the ground. Ana rushed to the bars, as though anger would allow her to pass through the iron. "Jack!" she shouted.

Laughing off the lady's concern, Charles shoved the pirate's shoulders pushing Jack down to his hands and knees. Then, the sadistic beast kicked the fallen pirate in the stomach, twice. Rolling away from a third strike, Jack scrambled to his feet. Boothe, however, was ready for Jack's reaction. Rushing at the pirate Captain, Boothe used his larger girth to pin Jack against the opposite wall of the hold. Jack struggled against his enemy, but Black Charlie managed to hold the slighter pirate against the wall with one arm, using his free fist to hit Jack twice more in the stomach. Letting go, Jack once again fell to the floor.

Ana's muscles tensed, and her fingers closed around the bars in tight angry fists. She pulled against the imprisoning iron as though her fury would give her the strength to tear the small cell apart. But, her cage remained regretfully in tact, and the lady pirate remained helplessly inside, forced to watch as Black Charlie beat the man she loved.

The loathsome creature pulled Jack up from the deck by the collar of his coat. Propping the pirate against the wall, Charles wound up for another punch, when, all of a sudden, the door to the hold was flung open. A relieved sigh silently fled from Ana's lips. She watched Callaghan enter the brig as a damsel would watch the approach of her knight in glittering shiny armor. She did not know why she placed such faith in the Irishman, but he'd prevented Jack from receiving a flogging up on deck, maybe he'd stop this as well.

Callaghan entered nonchalantly, stopping abruptly, as though the Captain was the last person he expected to find in the hold. His body went instantly from casually relaxed, to tense and alert. His eyes danced back and forth around the room, missing nothing. He seemed to take note of the lady still trapped behind bars, the pirate with bloodied lips clinging to the wall for support, and his Captain interrupted in the middle of a rather enjoyable torture session. After quickly, and deftly, surveying the scene, Callaghan's casual, easy manner returned. "You're wastin' your time," he said, his thick brogue sounding almost mocking as he addressed Boothe.

Charles' eyes narrowed. He turned away from Jack and squarely faced his subordinate. "Ow I spend me time is none of yer concern," he snarled.

"Maybe not," the Irishman shrugged. "But the more time you spend down 'ere dissessemblin' Sparrow, the longer I 'ave t' wait t' see my share in that ruby."

"We don't know where to look fer it!" Boothe shouted, his voice sounding like the growl of a rabid animal.

A slightly condescending smile animated the mercenary's scarred face. "An' you aren't goin' t' find out this way," he said, adopting the same tone a school master used when speaking to a student. "Capt'n Sparrow's willin' t' die t' keep you away from tha ruby," Callaghan paused looking to Jack for corroboration. The pirate, who was barely managing to keep his feet beneath his body, glared daggers at the Irishman. Callaghan smiled thinly. "If you want 'im t' tell you where it is, you're going t' have t' threaten something 'e's no' so willin' t' give up."

Boothe crossed his arms, seeming to tire of Callaghan's game. "Such as?"

The mercenary's light brown eyes fell on Ana. "When I put it to 'im earlier, tha 'e could either share wit' me the location of the ruby or I'd share 'is lady with the 'ole crew …" Callaghan chuckled wickedly. "Well, 'e suddenly became more than accommodating."

Ana almost grinned in spite of the horribly tense situation. Callaghan had just lied to Black Charlie. He had never threatened her or Jack to try to obtain the location of the ruby. He'd never put the question to them, at all. She had learned the hard way not to put the cart before the horse, but this had to be a good sign. Why would the Irishman lie to his Captain unless he meant to help Ana and Jack escape?

Boothe's eyes brightened at Callaghan's words as well. He looked almost as happy as Ana felt. "E told you where me ruby is?" Charles seemed about ready to burst.

Callaghan nodded. "I'd sent O'Keefe t' find you," he said. "So you could start – "

"Aye," Charles cut off the Irishman. "O' Keefe's a good man. We'll bring 'im … an' Murphy," he paused. "Bring Sparrow … an' the lass," he added as an afterthought. Callaghan knuckled his forehead in a sarcastic salute that Boothe mostly ignored. "On deck in a quarter of an hour." Without wasting another second, Black Charlie left the hold rubbing his hands together, eyes gleaming like a greedy child on Christmas morning.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Callaghan held up his hand, halting the words of gratitude that had been on the tip of Ana's tongue. "Don't thank me," he said. "I've no care for either of you. I only want t' be paid." He grabbed Jack by the arm, lending the pirate support that was not unkind, nor was it warm and friendly. "Once I 'ave my share o' tha ruby. I'll not go out o' my way t' keep you in Boothe's custody, but don't expect me t' hold your 'and all the way home."

Jack pulled his arm away from the Irishman's hold. Straightening his beaten body, he stared evenly at Callaghan. "We're no' askin' for more than that," he said.

The mercenary's tongue clicked inside of his mouth, as he opened the cell door for Anamaria. "I'll warn you just once, Sparrow," he said, matching Jack's stare. "If you get the idea in your 'ead tha' you're going t' cross me up an' not take me t' the ruby, I will share your lady with my men," he paused. "An' if I'm feelin' especially generous, I'll share 'er with the Capt'n."

TBC

Freak87: You mentioned the change in Delaney's character. Well, he has always been very ambitious and career oriented, but he has become more focused on his career and less on his feelings during this story, probably b/c he's noticed that Ana's true feelings lie with Jack, not him. And as for Callaghan, I don't have him entirely figured out yet, either. So, I guess we'll both be watching him closely!

Yuna-Flowering: I had to give James more depth than we saw in the movie. I think some of the deleted scenes do him a bit more justice, I only wish they would've stayed in the finished movie. Anyway, I thing no matter how duty oriented James gets, he's still going to have a spot in my heart. And, I'm glad you enjoyed Jack's frustration w/ Ana, I'm hoping you really enjoyed this chappy!

Cal: First of all, in response to your last note: Me a romantic of the angsty persuasion? Never! I am sorry to have starved your Jack/Ana craving soul. Lots of them in this chappy, just for you! I'm glad you liked the Jack who was just barely containing his anger towards Ana. I think a pirate would have to really try to reign himself in when dealing with friends/family etc. Jack has got to be used to getting what he wants by force, if nessessary. I think he's probably got to really keep himself in check when he's dealing with someone he can't kick the shit out of :-) He also has to keep his dirty mouth in check (I'm glad you enjoyed that bit) And, yeah, Norry needed a good exit line, since I kick him while he's down so often. And you certainly gave me a warm fuzzy feeling when you said you still missed Miguel. Thanks for that!

SylviaD: You're so right about Jack and Callaghan. Neither should be underestimated, and maybe neither should be trusted! And I know James gets the raw end of the deal, time and time again. Maybe I'll give him his moment in the sun here, or in "Kindling." I don't mean to be so hard on him, but he just walks in to these situations. I think a friendship with Prescott has got to be kind of a difficult prospect. Sure, he's a good man, but he's sly, he lies, he cheats ... He's a pirate! So, I'm glad you like Norry and I'm sorry I make you feel bad for him.

Rose of England: Boothe getting his just deserves ... just stay tuned. That much I can promise you! And I'm glad you like Billings. Prescott is definitely a good and a bad influence. He encourages people to follow their heart, but where that may lead, who knows!

Angel-In-Hell: Glad to see you didn't lose faith in dear Pres. He misbehaves from time to time, but usually he redeems himself.

Thanks for all the feedback. I can't wait for your next round of reviews!


	26. Unfinished Business

Obligatory disclaimer about not owning PotC characters.

**Chapter Twenty-Six "Unfinished Business"**

The mercenary held the door open for Anamaria to leave the cell, his threat still hanging in the air like the curls of smoke after a candle has been blown out. Her skin broke into gooseflesh as she passed in front of the Irishman. Like a frightened schoolgirl, she hurried to stand beside Jack, hoping that putting distance between herself and Callaghan would ease the disquieting feeling that was rising up in her chest.

Ana was pretty sure that the Irish peacock was just fanning his feathers trying to scare Jack out of double-crossing him, but something in his eyes, in the deadly calm of his voice, made her think twice. The man was a mercenary, after all. He fought and killed people for money. Who knows how long he'd been living this way. His silver streaked hair made his age nearly impossible to determine. The bronze skin on his face was deeply lined, but, Ana suspected, more from experience than years. Maybe after keeping such close relations with violence and death, a man could pass a woman around to a vile band of pirates without a second thought. Still, Ana did not want to seem afraid of Callaghan, no matter how she truly felt.

The lady did not need to be overly concerned about how scared she appeared, however, for neither man standing in the hold was paying her any attention. The pirate and the mercenary were engaged in some silent battle of wills. Callaghan was staying still and quiet in an effort to convey that he wasn't bluffing, and Jack was answering the threat with his best if-you-so-much-as-touch-her-I'll-kill-you expression, thank God. Ana shrunk farther behind the pirate, wrapping her hands around his arm. She didn't know how to establish who had come out on top, but moments later Callaghan unlocked the outer door and led Jack and Ana up to the maindeck, without another word.

Contrary to the lady's expectations, the deck of her brother's ship was eerily calm. One of the shore boats was being hoisted into the water, but this was being done in almost total silence. There was no excited chatter concerning the excursion. No one speculated on the ruby's whereabouts, or how the pirate had come to find it in the first place. Nothing. Just quiet.

"Wait here," Callaghan instructed, seemingly unconcerned by the unnatural silence. "Don't move."

"And don't do anythin' we're going t' regret," Jack added quietly after the Irishman had disappeared back belowdecks.

Ana expelled a frustrated breath. "I said I was sorry about that," she whispered.

"No. Ye didn't, darling," the pirate answered.

The lady paused. He was right. She hadn't. "Well, I meant to." Jack quirked an eyebrow. "What's our plan, then?" Ana went on, eager to change the subject. "You aren't going to cross him up … are you?" Callaghan's warning was still ringing in her ears, and, even though she knew that Jack wouldn't want her to come to any harm, she felt that a little assurance couldn't hurt.

"Plan?" Jack repeated the word, whispering through clenched teeth. "There isn't any plan, love. We're going t' take Boothe an' the mercenary t' the ruby, an' then run like 'ell. When we hit the water, we're going t' swim like 'ell." His arms went out to either side of his body. "Tha's the best I've got."

Ana did not like the note of desperation in her Captain's voice. "What about Prescott?"

Jack's eyes widened. "Well, let's see. Scotty'll be on _Intercepter_ or _Daun'less_. We will 'ave no weapons, no men, an' no ship. So, we'll 'ave to sprout a pair of wings and fly across the sea, pluck 'im out of the Navy's grasp, an' fly back again." His arms fell back to his sides. He sighed, sounding utterly deflated.

He didn't know how they were going to slip away from Boothe. He didn't know how they were going to get to Prescott. The deck was stacked against the pirate and his lady, and that Jack did know. Ana wanted to say something reassuring, something about not worrying because everything would work itself out. She couldn't think of anything. "He _did_ lie to Boothe," she reminded Jack. "Callaghan must be willing to keep his word and help us."

The pirate shrugged. "Callaghan said 'e wouldn't stand in our way. No' exactly the kind of 'elp I'd hoped for."

Any further conversation stopped, when the Irishman in question reappeared on the main deck. Ana's eyes grew wide as she noted his changed appearance. His large, curved sword still hung at his side, but it was now accompanied by two matching pistols stuck in his belt and a dagger holstered around his thigh. A second holster draped over his shoulder and hung across his chest, in which he was inserting smaller throwing knives. The lady took a few steps towards the Irishman.

"E' did say t' stay put, love," Jack reminded her. "No' like you're one t' follow instructions."

"Just give me a minute," she whispered, tossing the pirate a glare.

"Ah, going t' give 'im his late wife's regards, again?"

Ana pretended not to hear the pirate's last comment as she approached Callaghan. She noticed that he'd painted thick lines of kohl around his eyes, like Jack usually wore. He looked up as he tied a black piece of cloth around his head. "Going to war?" the lady asked, when he'd finished.

Callaghan smiled, snorting a quiet laugh. "Pray for peace, prepare for war," he said by way of an answer.

"Why did you lie … to Boothe?" Ana said, tired of fencing with the mercenary. She wanted to hear him say that he couldn't stand the likes of Charles Boothe. She was waiting for some indication of his true motivations, some hint that the mercenary was, like Jack, a good man in spite of his profession.

"If he'd killed Sparrow, so went any hope o' ever seein' that ruby," Callaghan explained.

Before Ana could protest by saying that money could not possibly be the Irishman's only reason for acting as he had, Black Charlie stormed onto the deck. "Come on you," he ordered everyone and no one, as he went over the side into the rowboat. Two men standing nearby looked to Callaghan, who nodded his permission.

"Stop lookin' for me heart o' gold," the Irishman said, ushering the lady towards the side. "I pawned 'er years ago."

88888

"This island is not that big," Admiral Delaney stated the obvious as he stood holding the chain that used to be attached to Prescott Tarret's leg. "We could search it inch by inch and only lose a few days time, but I'd prefer to follow some sort of logical progression."

Standing beside Sir George, Captain Norrington was barely containing the urge to tell the Admiral exactly what he could do with logical progression. Nothing about the past few days had been logical. Nothing, and it was a complete waste of time to expect it to change now. James had learned the hard way, that where either of the Tarret siblings were involved, logic was thrown out the window and replaced by completely impossible chaos.

"Captain Norrington," Delaney paused, eying his subordinate. "You knew Tarret. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

James made a face that he hoped looked contemplative, as though he were giving the Admiral's question serious consideration. The truth was, he knew exactly where Prescott could be found. What he was giving serious consideration to was whether or not he wanted Delaney to know that information.

When James had come upon Prescott and Black Charlie, they had been standing just beneath an outcropping of stone that led back to a small cave. Since finding them there, James had discovered that Prescott was in possession of one of the most legendary pieces of treasure in the Caribbean, the Heart of Captain Morgan. Prescott was the type who would most appreciate the irony of hiding the largest cut ruby in existence in a shabby cave, and he would especially appreciate the fact that Boothe had been standing so near to the stone without knowing it. The ruby was in that cave, and so was Prescott.

The officer turned pirate, however, was not returning to the cave to reacquire his lost wealth. He would be there, because Black Charlie would be there. Morgan's illegitimate little brother would not let the ruby slip through his fingers when he was so close he could smell it. Somehow, whether by searching the island _inch by inch_ or by coercing the information from Sparrow or Annie, Boothe's quest would lead him back to that small cave. And, when he arrived, Prescott would be there to exact his revenge.

James knew that vengeance was never able to give a man's heart it's rest, but he also knew that he wanted that vengeance for Prescott. He could only imagine what Boothe did to the former officer while he was in that stinking hold. What atrocities could make a man slice off his right arm for freedom.

Delaney would argue that the place for Boothe was in British custody, so that he could be hanged with all the pomp and circumstance of a proper British execution. The governor would be present. The military would form their ranks. A crowd would gather, drums would roll, and, swift as you please, their rhythm would stop. Black Charlie Boothe would pass quickly to the next world with the snapping of his neck. Such was the way of things in the English colonies. Such was the right way, in most circumstances.

Norrington almost had his mind made up, and then, blood flashed in front of his eyes. Prescott's blood, covering almost every surface in Boothe's hold. The proud, strong officer shaking in James' arms on the deck of Boothe's ship. He could still see his friend in that hospital room drawing on his last reserves of strength and vowing to go after Charles. Shaking his head, James faced Delaney. He had his mind made up. He was probably playing the fool, yet again, for his friend and former colleague, but more than he wanted his Admiral's praise, he wanted Prescott Tarret to have his revenge. "I vaguely remember something about a cave," he lied. "I'm sorry to say that, Prescott never said much about it's location, but I suppose it's a place to start?"

Delaney shrugged, clearly he'd been hoping for something more concrete. "Better than nothing," he replied. The Admiral was about to go on, but he was interrupted by Sir George loudly clearing his throat. "Something to add, Captain Williams," Delaney asked in the slightly irritated tone used between friends.

"Sorry, Sir," Williams replied. "I only found myself wondering what's happened to Lieutenant Billings."

"Who?"

"The man responsible for guarding Captain Tarret, Sir," Sir George clarified.

"My God," James said, almost laughing. "He's done it again."

The Admiral's brow rose. "What did you say, Captain?"

Norrington shook his head. "Give him enough time, and Prescott could get the Virgin Mary to lie for him."

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"Sun's coming up," Billings said, as he leaned against the narrow cave opening.

"It has a tendency to do that," Prescott replied, still sitting with his eyes closed and head resting against the stone wall on the same rock he'd chosen over an hour ago, still trying to get much needed and rather elusive rest. He suspected that Billings had not informed him of the sun's rising because he thought Prescott didn't know what time it was, but more because he needed to talk about something. The young man had been more than willing to help his hero in the heat of the moment, but now, with quiet time in which he could reflect upon his rash actions, Billings appeared more and more uneasy.

Prescott knew the feeling. Knew it well. Two years ago when he'd struck a man of God and broke Jack Sparrow out of the hold at Fort Arthur, he'd been carried on by the justness of his cause and the excitement that he always felt when risking his neck. However, as he sat alone on _Loyalty_'s fighting top and watched Kingston fade into the distance, he had also been riddled with doubt and uncertainty.

The only difference between the pirate and the young lieutenant was that Prescott had lived a full and successful life. He'd been married, albeit not so happily. He had found incredible success as a Captain in the King's Navy, performing his duty and upholding the law, for the most part. He had buried every member of his family but Annie. When he walked away from his life, he was quite content to close that chapter and start anew. He may have had his doubts, but he was not forced to live with what ifs or regrets. Sometimes, if he lay awake at night, he wondered what an Admiral's life would have been like, but, really, he already knew. Politics and money ruled the Royal Navy, and Prescott hated answering to politicians and men from the diplomatic service. He was a pirate, and, except for times where he was facing imminent and almost certain death, as was presently the case, he couldn't ask for a better life.

"What will we do if they show up at the same time," Billings asked. "Delaney and Boothe."

Prescott smiled faintly, not bothering yet to open his eyes. "We sit back and watch the fireworks," he answered.

Billings may not yet realize, but if Boothe and his crew happened to arrive at the cave at the same time as Delaney and his marines, there would be a fight. Black Charlie would be leading what few lowlifes he'd been able to hastily recruit from Kingston. Delaney would be backed by two ships full of marines and able bodied sea men. With any luck, some overzealous sailor would take his blade to Boothe's sorry carcass and leave the monster to bleed to death. Better yet, someone could severely wound Charles, leaving the villain to suffer horrible pain until his trial and execution.

"Tell you the truth," Billings started again. "I'd almost rather face Boothe."

"Me too," Prescott agreed, his voice low and vicious. The lieutenant most likely did not want to face his Admiral, because he did not want to be a disappointment to his former superior. He was probably most dreading an encounter with Norrington, the Captain he'd served and respected for years. Prescott was hoping to face Boothe, rather than the Navy, for a much different reason. Quite simply, Prescott wanted Black Charlie to go to his grave regretting everything that he'd done to the former officer. He wanted Boothe to curse the day he ever crossed paths with Prescott Tarret. He wanted the wharf rat to suffer as he had suffered. The Navy would kill Charles, but Prescott would destroy him.

"What do you think has happened to Captain Sparrow and … and your sister?" the lieutenant asked, seeming somewhat hesitant to bring up the sibling that had been willing to let Prescott die to save another pirate. "Do you think Black Charlie will bring either of them when he comes to find the ruby?"

Now, Prescott did open his eyes, hating to admit that he was more than a little anxious about seeing Annie again. "He will. Jack knows better than to give away the stone's location. He may agree to take Boothe to the ruby, but I doubt he'd just tell him where to go." Of course he wouldn't. Every pirate knows that he must keep his aces concealed up his sleeve until the last possible moment. Sparrow would be able to plainly see that no matter how confident Annie appeared, they were in a precarious situation. They were only useful to Boothe as long as they had something he wanted. Once the ruby had changed hands, Black Charlie did not need to take Jack and Annie to the nearest safe port. He certainly did not need to turn over command of _Loyalty_. Yes, Jack would know to keep himself useful as long as was humanly possible. Prescott only hoped the wily pirate Captain would be able to rein Annie in, somewhat.

"And Anamaria?" the lieutenant looked as though he were bracing himself for a blow after asking about Prescott's sister.

The pirate chuckled under his breath. "I imagine she'll finagle a way to be brought along, Mr. Billings." If there was one thing Annie couldn't stand, it was being left behind while the men left for action. She would definitely be with Boothe and Jack when they came ashore, and he would have to face her again only hours after she told him to go to the devil with her blessing.

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Anamaria exhaled a deep breath slowly as she stepped onto the beach. It was empty, save for the remnants of a dozen doused fires. Shane, James and all of the marines had apparently packed up and headed back to their respective ships. The Navy, and her brother, had gone.

Jack's thoughts must have been mirroring her own, for the pirate Captain stood gazing down the beach, a mournful look in his dark eyes. Neither the pirate nor the lady had voiced their hope, but they had both been praying that Prescott would still be somewhere on the island. Ana knew that if Jack and Pres could just put their heads together, they'd come up with something brilliant, another subtle con or a daring escape. But, Prescott was gone. She and Jack were on their own.

The two crewman that had come ashore were pulling the rowboat up onto the sand, Murphy and O' something or another. Ana noted with interest that most of the crew manning her brother's ship bore Irish surnames. She wondered which leader, Boothe or Callaghan, the crew would be more apt to follow. Boothe was standing with his arms crossed petulantly, like a child who was just about to throw a tantrum. The Irish mercenary was crouching down by one of the doused fires, examining the remains and looking for something. Ana shook her head. She knew which man looked more worth following.

"Lead on Sparrow," Boothe snarled impatiently.

"Mind yourself," Callaghan said quietly. "Fire pits are still warm. They 'aven't been gone long." Ana's heart skipped inside her chest. It's rhythm quickened. "They may've already seen us," the Irishman went on.

"What makes ye say that?" Black Charlie demanded.

"Looks like they left in a 'urry."

Boothe made a noise and uttered a few comments indicating his displeasure. Frowning, he took hold of Jack's arm and shoved him towards the tree line. "Time's a wasting, Sparrow," he said. "Now, where's me ruby?"

Jack began walking towards the trees, his irregular gait looking no more hurried than usual. Ana smiled, pleased that her Captain wasn't giving Boothe any more than he absolutely had to. The two crewmen fell into step behind Boothe and Jack. Ana waited for Callaghan, still hoping she'd be able to decipher the seemingly greed-driven Irishman. "Are you any good with those?" she asked, indicating the throwing knives that hung across the mercenary's chest.

Callaghan nodded. "Sorry t' say tha' them who could best testify t' my skill aren't testifyin' t' much these days."

The answer seemed characteristic of the cagey mercenary. A little bit of truth wrapped up in tons of sarcasm and topped off with the tiniest hint of a threat. She recognized the tactic, because it was the same way Jack spoke when he was trying to avoid a direct question. All that was missing from Callaghan's reply was the Cheshire cat smile and perhaps a wink. Ana lifted her chin, scrutinizing the Irishman as they walked on through the sparse woods. She began to see that she'd been going about this all wrong, trying to appeal to the decent person buried beneath years of hard living. That good man had been existing so long under the tremendous weight of Callaghan's life, that, maybe, the mercenary finally killed him too. Maybe there truly wasn't any honor lurking within the Irishman's soul. Ana shrugged inwardly. Well, maybe she should try a different tactic. "Why is it that men mistake arrogance for charm?"

"Isn't arrogance to know wha' your good at," the Irishman corrected.

Ana knew there was a degree of truth in his words, for the mercenary hadn't sounded boastful when answering her question. He had simply been stating a fact. He was a killer and proud to be so. He was a dangerous man who knew how much he frightened people. A greedy, volatile war lover, and Anamaria was going to goad him into a fight. "And, what is it then, to excel at killing people for money?" Ana pressed.

Callaghan's stride seemed to falter in response to the lady's damning comment. As usual, a man unaccustomed to a woman speaking her mind so bluntly. "Anamaria," he said, his voice void of all the sing song nonchalance she'd heard earlier. "You tread dreadfully heavy on thinning ice."

No sarcasm in that one, Ana thought to herself, only a bit more truth and quite a lot of threat. "Oh, I beg your pardon, am I about to cross a line with you?" Ana said sardonically. "Well, Mr. Callaghan, I have to be honest with you. I don't really care anymore. My safety is of little concern to you … well, your feelings are of little concern to me." The Irishman had stopped walking altogether. He stood staring at Ana through disbelieving eyes. Apparently being so bold with a man who killed without mercy or emotion was somewhat unexpected. Ana could have laughed triumphantly. "I asked you for help and offered you the same payment that Boothe did, but, because you're in the middle of paying back some debt to that creature, you refused. Perhaps, Mr. Callaghan, I've decided that I don't want help from the sort of man who owes debts to the likes of him."

The Irishman grinned a smile that ridiculed Ana. "Finally realize tha' there isn't any heart o' gold?" he teased, reverting back to answers served up with a side of delicious mockery.

"There's no heart at all," the piratess retorted. Callaghan's smile dissolved. His eyes narrowed. Ah, she'd struck a chord that time. Ana stared evenly back at the Irishman. The basic flaw that all men share is the desire to look good in front of women. A man will jump through a whole array of ridiculous hoops in an effort to impress a lady. They don't require much payback. An amused laugh or a covert smile, maybe even something so wonderful as the privilege of bestowing a kiss on a gentle lady's hand. Normally, this behavior is accepted and even sought after. Women want to be impressed. The flaw comes when the men fail to do so. A bored sigh or a derogatory comment can utterly derail most men … even if the man happens to be a bloodthirsty killer.

"Well," Callaghan started, once again straying from his customary offhand manner of speaking. "I'm happy t' see that you've drawn such infallible conclusions after knowin' me all of three hours," he paused. "I 'ave t' admit that I've drawn a few about you, too, lass."

"Mr. Callaghan, I'm sure I don't care what you think of me," Ana interrupted. "Now, shouldn't we keep on. Your ruby awaits."

The Irishman bowed. "After you," he said.

Taking her place in front of the mercenary, Anamaria smiled broadly. She couldn't quite put her finger on the reason for her improved mood. She had just alienated their only real ally in this impossible fight. Still, she couldn't help but feel that she'd finally dealt with Callaghan the correct way, that she finally had the Irishman right where she wanted him. She hoped that this time her pirate instincts were on their mark.

She and Callaghan caught up with Boothe, Jack and the crewmen just as they were coming upon a small cave. Black Charlie had moved to the opening in the rocky cliff, looking as though he were too overwhelmed to enter. Ana stood beside Jack. "Why is it always a cave?" she whispered.

The Captain looked at her and shrugged. "We're pirates, love," he answered. "If we can't do things on ships, we do them in caves. 'Aven't ye read the stories?" He smiled weakly. No doubt the joke was meant to reassure Ana that all was not lost, but Jack didn't seem to believe that, himself.

"Callaghan," Boothe said. "Go in an' get her."

"You want me t' do it?" the Irishman asked, apparently surprised that the vile pirate Captain hadn't rushed in and turned over every stone straight away.

Black Charlie spun around and glared bullets at the mercenary. "Tha's what I said, isn't it."

Callaghan shrugged and walked into the cave. Watching Boothe, Ana suspected that he sent the Irishman into the cave more because he liked ordering him around than because he wanted the mercenary to be the one to retrieve his ruby. Ana rolled her eyes. Disgusting.

Jack leaned in close to Ana's ear, while Boothe and the crewmen's eyes were glued to the cave entrance. "Ready, love," he said softly. "On my signal, be ready t' fly." Ana nodded, hoping that she was ready. "Make sure tha – " the pirate stopped abruptly, jerking his head towards the cave, almost as though he'd heard something. Ana, too, turned to stare at the rocky cliff face, although she had no idea what she was supposed to be looking for.

Seconds later, she found out, as she watched Callaghan exit the cave followed by a man in a Navy uniform who was pressing a pistol against the Irishman's temple. Ana noticed right away that the unusual curved blade was no longer at the mercenary's side. Callaghan's hands were raised in the air and the Navy man was regarding him with open contempt. The Irishman's face was a mix of anger and embarrassment.

"It's a nice blade," a voice stated. Ana's jaw dropped as another man emerged from the shadows of the cave, holding the mercenary's sword in his one remaining arm. "Bit heavy for my taste."

"Jesus Christ," Boothe cursed out loud.

Prescott smiled a thin, mean smile. "Flattering," he said, "But no. As I understand it, more people would put me as an ally of the devil, not the son of God."

Ana turned to Jack, furious that he hadn't told her Prescott was waiting inside of that cave. She had her hand drawn back, ready to let fly her aggressions. The lady stopped short, however, upon seeing the pirate Captain's face. Jack's lips were slightly parted, and his head was cocked to one side. He had no idea that Prescott would be waiting. He had no idea what her older brother was planning. The lady and her Captain were both in the dark.

"Tarret," Boothe addressed Prescott. "If this is yer idea of a rescue, then – "

"A rescue," Ana's brother laughed out loud. "And who exactly am I to be rescuing? The rum soaked fool who couldn't keep his hands to himself, or my loving sister who sent me off to be hanged?"

Prescott shot Ana and Jack a look that appeared to be an angry glare. Her face flushed automatically when hit by the truth just beneath Prescott's offhand words, but this time the lady was watching her brother much closer. This time, she did see something in his blue eyes. Ana could almost hear his voice in her head begging her to just play along. She lowered her eyes, hoping she gave nothing away.

"No, no, Charles," Prescott was saying. "This isn't about Sparrow or my beloved little sister." He paused, pointing Callaghan's sword at Boothe. "This is between me and you. A bit of … unfinished business."

TBC

Well, there are some chapters to this story that have come tumbling out of my mind so fast that I can hardly type fast enough to keep up. This was not one of those chapters. So, go a little easy on the critique, cause I know there's a few awkward spots. I'll go back and fix things up at some point, but I thought I'd better get this update out to all of you rather than make you wait too much longer. Hope that was okay!

Freak87: Delaney definitely bears watching, and I'm sure you aren't the only one who's going to be keeping an eye on him. As for Ana being a pretty terrible pirate at this point, yeah, she is. It's like watching someone play a sport or paint a picture and saying "That doesn't look so tough. I could do that." I think Ana's starting to realize that there's more to piracy than a smart mouth!

Rose of England: I'm so happy you were looking forward to more James. I gave you a bit in this chappy, but there's absolutely more to come! As for Callaghan, he is an interesting one, isn't he? I've got a pretty good idea about how he developes by the end of the story, but who knows, he may surprise even me.

Angel-In-Hell: Thanks for saying that Callaghan is well written. That is the highest compliment. I don't particularly care if you all like every OC I come up with, but if you can appreciate them for their roles in the story, I'm a happy girl!

Cal: I don't know what I think about this read my story one day and not review until later attitude! I really think when I update, you should drop everything and start typing :-) Alright, that said, I'm so happy you seemed to enjoy all the Jack/Ana stuff in the last chappy. I so enjoy writing their arguements. Two quick wits and sharp tongues like those make for such great stuff! I wholly agree with your assessment of Jack as a kind of father figure when he's pointing out Ana's mistakes. He's kind of her pirate mentor at this point. Ana certainly has the heart of a pirate and the mouth of a sailor at times, but she needs to learn how to use those things to her best advantage. She needs to learn the finer points of piracy, you know, like not sending your brother to the noose and leaving mercenary's dead wives out of conversation! I'm also happy that you noticed how Callaghan's attitude sort of changed. He _did_ humanize Ana by calling her by name. I'm always torn between leaving stuff like that subtleand writing it in bold, underlined type. I don't want to give stuff away, but I don't want anyone to breeze over potentially imporatant details. Anyway, thanks for noticing.

SylviaD: Don't worry, I'll give James his victories too. Probably not as many as Jack and Ana will have, but I can't leave him out in the cold forever. As for your feelings on Ana, I think that's perfectly understandable. Everyone has their favorites, and they aren't always the main characters. I think when we read stories or watch movies it's important to see the villians as multi-faceted characters, and see the heroes as having their flaws too. Can't put anyone up on a pedestal and proclaim that they can do no wrong. Although, if you'd like to set Jack up there and just stare at his handsome self for a while, that's fine!

Yuna-Flowering: Well, I meant Boothe, but the threat doesn't lose anything if you thought of Callaghan instead. And your right, I don't think Ana would go willingly, at all.

Thanks again, for all of the lovely comments! I'll be looking forward to more!


	27. Deeper Into the Devil's Bargain

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC

**Chapter Twenty-Seven "Deeper Into the Devil's Bargain"**

Trudging through a small, sparsely wooded island in the glaring sun with no sign of his objective would normally irritate Captain James Norrington. The phrase _a waste of time_ would be called to mind. However, when one did not want to see any signs of his objective, one was quite content to wander aimlessly across a Caribbean island. Admiral Delaney, Captain Williams, James and about twenty marines, fanned out behind the officers, had been doing exactly that for the past three or four hours, and they hadn't found a thing. No footprints, no broken twigs, no blood trail, and certainly no caves. Absolutely nothing! James was so pleased that he'd been on the verge of whistling several times.

The more he thought about it, the less James wanted to see Prescott hang. Neither did he want to see his former colleague get off _Scott free_. Norrington, however, was positive that this would not be the last time he and Captain Tarret would cross paths. Somewhere, someday, they would meet again. They would still be on opposite sides of the law, so there would still be conflict. Swords or pistols would undoubtedly come into play and one of them would emerge victorious. James did not particularly enjoy the idea of his friend's death, but going out, guns blazing in the middle of some battle between the lawful and the unlawful was much preferable to public humiliation at the end of a hempen rope. All in all, Captain Norrington was feeling rather content when Delaney stopped suddenly, causing the marine behind to run into his back.

"This is ridiculous," the Admiral proclaimed. "How hard can it be to find a bloody cave? The island is not that big."

A faintly amused smile formed on Sir George's face. "You've said that already, Sir." His comment received no more than a frustrated glare as a reply. The Captain shrugged. "Tarret is a smart man. He won't hide out in the open."

"Yes," Delaney said. "I know that, but there are only so many places where it's even possible for there to be a cave."

Sir George shrugged again. "Maybe he isn't even on the island anymore," he postulated. "He's as good as lost if he remains on this island after we leave. He's stranded without a ship. Perhaps he's stowed away aboard _Interceptor_ or the flag ship."

"Much smarter than a cave," Norrington piped in. Sir George's lucky bit of misdirection saved James the trouble of outright lying to his superior officer.

"Have the two of you forgotten that the man only has one arm?" Delaney asked. "Swimming's out. I've left guards at the longboat. Even if Tarret somehow managed, without any weapons, to overpower four armed marines, he couldn't row anywhere."

"He has Billings," James reminded his Admiral, only too happy to throw Delaney farther off course. Not until he would give a wanted pirate a days head start would Captain Norrington do anything so contrary to his duty. After everything Prescott had done to James, it was completely preposterous that he should want to help his former commander, but, during the hours spent canvassing the island, James had began to see what the future would hold if Prescott were to hang in the town square.

If they found the officer turned pirate, they would also find Billings. The lieutenant may or may not have gone with Prescott willingly. If he had, he would also hang as a traitor to England. If he had not, then he would have failed to carry out a very uncomplicated set of orders. With a blunder like that on one's record, a promotion would be a very long time coming. Not to mention the fact that Sparrow would also be in that cave with Prescott, for he was the only one who could lead Boothe to the Heart of Captain Morgan. So, Sparrow would also hang. Norrington could not possibly care less what happened to the pirate, but, if Sparrow was killed, Annie would never forgive him. That, he did care about. Two, possibly three, dead men. One, possibly two, lives ruined. James shook his head. He would not be responsible for that.

"Billings," Delaney repeated the lieutenant's name.

Sir George was nodding. "If Tarret forced Mr. Billings to say that he was transporting our prisoner back to the ship, Tarret could get aboard without arousing any suspicion."

James also nodded, as though he were seeing the real possibilities of this hypothesis. He did not know if Billing's treachery hadn't occurred to Sir George, or if the older Captain was just hoping for the best. Either way, James' lieutenant was not a suspected traitor yet.

"You're right," the Admiral agreed. "We should return to the ships – "

"Admiral Delaney, Sir," one of the marines boldly interrupted.

Shane turned to face the soldier, visibly surprised that he would dare to speak up. "Yes?" he asked in a typical aristocratic _what-could-possibly-be-more-important-than-what-I-was-saying_ tone.

"Forgive me, Sir," the marine stuttered. "But, I think there may have been a cave on the south side of the island. Not actually that far from where we'd made camp. Narrow opening, easily overlooked."

Delaney raised a single eyebrow, silently asking the soldier why in the hell he hadn't spoke up sooner. "Captain Williams," he said. "Return to the ships and commence searching for Tarret there. Captain Norrington and I will take the marines to this cave and have a look."

James' eyes fell on the marine who'd so graciously offered his recollections to the Admiral. _God damn him to hell_, Norrington swore silently. "A fine idea, Sir," he said in response to Delaney's proposed action. No amount of red herrings would save him now. Even though Norrington had prayed for reprieve, in the back of his mind, he had always known that a confrontation of some sort was unavoidable. He knew he would have to stand toe to toe with Prescott before this was over, and he would be forced to decide between his duty and his friend.

Sighing, Norrington walked along next to Delaney heading south. The island was not that big. It was not possible that there would be two caves on the south side of the island, and, even if there were, James knew they were heading towards the one that housed Prescott.

"Captain Norrington," the Admiral began, his voice lowered. "For what it's worth, I am sorry about the position I've put you in." James gaped at his superior officer, shocked to the core by this unbidden apology. "I know that facing Tarret like this cannot be easy," Shane went on, his voice sounding almost sympathetic. "Being that he was a friend. I want to commend you for your ability to chose your duty over those ties."

James nodded stiffly, not responding verbally to Delaney's praise. Duty or the ties of friendship. Had he resolved to chose duty? He sighed again, wondering if the impending decision was truly what was worrying him. What if standing against a former friend was not what he feared? Maybe he was more afraid of standing against Prescott Tarret. For Prescott the decision was not duty or friendship, it was freedom or friendship. Which would the pirate choose?

"I know it's small consolation, Captain," Delaney said. "But, when we return to Kingston, I will not ask you to turn out for his execution."

Norrington nodded again. "Best we concern ourselves with apprehending him before we worry about hanging him."

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"No, no, Charles," Prescott was saying. "This isn't about Sparrow or my beloved little sister." He paused, pointing Callaghan's sword at Boothe. "This is between me and you. A bit of … unfinished business."

Anamaria watched as the color fled from Black Charlie Boothe's face. She could not help the satisfied smile that appeared on her lips. Ana had no idea what Prescott was planning to do, but any harm that came to Charles was fine by her. Intellectual reasoning could easily explain that no cataclysmic event could be blamed on only one person, but Ana's pirate heart raged against Boothe. In her mind, rational or not, his ungentlemanly comments years ago had started this ball rolling. James and Prescott may have escalated the situation somewhat, but they were only reacting. It was Black Charlie who had made the first move. He was to blame, and Ana hoped he suffered for what he'd done.

Lowering the Irishman's sword, Prescott went back to examining the strange weapon. "Heavy blade," he mused. The former officer looked to Callaghan. "Ever taken someone's head off with it?" he asked, as conversationally as he would have asked if the mercenary wanted milk or sugar in his tea. Callaghan did not respond. He simply kept his eyes locked on Prescott. The pirate shrugged. "It'd work, I'll wager," he went on, undeterred. "A fine blade for relieving men of their appendages … " he paused, sending an icy glare to Boothe. "An arm, for instance."

Charles swallowed. Ana thought she could almost see the sweat begin to dot the vile man's forehead. She had to admit, she did not know if Prescott would really do what he was threatening. He was a pirate, now. What's more, he was a pirate who had been wronged. Prescott was also a good man. A man who had once upheld the law, generally speaking, and protected people. Ana bit her bottom lip, not wanting to place a bet either way.

"You see, Charles," Prescott went on. "In a very good book, it says _An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth._ Now, it doesn't go through and list each part of the body, but logical progression would indicate that an arm for an arm would fit in somewhere down the line. Wouldn't you think?"

Ana stole a glance at Jack, who had stood motionless and silent at her side ever since Prescott appeared from within the cave. The pirate Captain was tense, a panther waiting to catch his prey weak and unaware. He, too, seemed to understand that Prescott was planning something. He may not have known what to expect, but the pirate was ready for action.

"You cannot be serious," Boothe sputtered.

"Why can't I?" Prescott asked, actually having the audacity to chuckle.

Black Charlie shook his head. "Yer … ye were in the Navy … ye can't –"

"Might I remind you that while I was in the Royal Navy I lied to my superiors in order to get you thrown into prison for the rest of your life?" Prescott said. He smiled coldly. "Didn't work," he noted, looking again at the mercenary's sword. "This time I'll have to be a bit more thorough."

"Ye'll no' get the chance, Tarret," Charles countered. Prescott merely raised his eyebrows in response, appearing interested and slightly amused by his enemy's reasoning. "In case, ye've not noticed, yer outnumbered. Yer only man is busy wit' Callaghan. Which leaves you, only one against three," he finished, gesturing to the two crewman that were standing on either side of Jack and Ana. A triumphant grin lit up his unattractive face.

"Callaghan?" Prescott turned to the man in question, who stood with a pistol pressed against his head. "A silent Irishman? I've never heard of the like," Ana's brother pondered, seemingly disinterested and not at all threatened by anything else Boothe had said. Callaghan still did not say a word. Shrugging, Prescott turned back to Charles, matching Boothe's smile with one of his own. A handsome smile, that was weary and a bit desperate, and very dangerous.

The hair on the back of Ana's neck stood up and her skin prickled into gooseflesh. She'd never had any reason to fear her brother, in the past. Prescott was capable of a great many things, but Ana had always thought of him as more mischievous than dangerous. She was beginning to understand that her brother could be two very different people, the roguish schemer and the lethal pirate. The lady found herself wondering which was real and which was an act.

Shifting Callaghan's sword so that the wide, curved blade was resting on his shoulder, Prescott said, "You may have two men with you, Charles, but the one man I have with me is only an itchy trigger finger away from blowing their leader's head into a thousand pieces."

"They're mercenaries," Callaghan spoke up for the first time. "They're loyalties lie wit' money, not men."

Prescott raised his eyes to the heavens and sighed, as though he were growing tired of all this meaningless banter. "Let us say, Irish, that I believe for even one second that your men would be more willing to die for Charles than for you," he said. "If that is truly the case, then I would remind those two fine gentlemen, that Boothe hasn't given them any money. He has promised the Heart of Captain Morgan, and he has yet to deliver." Prescott chuckled again, as if he were the only man to hear a very funny joke. "By that logic," he began. "They should be _my_ men, as I'm the only one here who has the foggiest idea where –"

The former Navy Captain stopped mid sentence, tilting his head to one side, listening to something. Jack and Callaghan had each adopted similar poses, whereas Ana, Charles and everyone else stood gaping at Prescott, asking themselves why he hadn't finished his thought. "Damn," Jack swore quietly, as he turned his gaze to the woods.

"What is it?" Ana whispered, thinking she could just barely hear a rhythmic thumping sound coming from the trees.

"Marching," he answered. "Marines."

Suddenly, the steady drumming of booted feet was the only sound that Ana could hear. It banged away inside of her skull, until it was so loud she felt her head would explode. Ana became glaringly conscious of the fact that she was standing amidst three, possibly more, deadly men. The imminent approach of the King's Navy was, even now, cornering those men. Back a dangerous predator into a corner and it's likely to become reckless. Prescott may hold the upper hand at present, but how long would Boothe or, more importantly, Callaghan wait to strike, to put maximum distance between themselves and the Royal marines?

So, it was with this very thought in her head that Ana stood peering into the woods when she felt a strong hand grab her by the arm and pull her away from Jack. "What in the name of –" the lady bit off the end of her question as the barrel of a pistol was jabbed beneath her chin. She felt the hard steel of half a dozen throwing knives against her back. Mr. Billings was on the ground wearing the expression typical of a man who's just been bested by a far superior adversary. Black Charlie's venomous eyes were filled with hope. Prescott's were filled with rage. Ana suddenly felt quite the fool for provoking Callaghan only moments earlier.

"Tell your man t' stay down," the Irishman instructed. "Or, so 'elp me, I'll pepper the trees with 'er brains." Prescott did not say anything. He didn't have to. Billings, who had been in the process of picking himself up and dusting himself off, froze. The former Navy lieutenant lowered himself back to the ground, placed his gun on the sand, and slowly held his harmless hands up in the air. "You didn't think my men would forsake me," Callaghan said. "An' I don't believe you're really so willin' t' leave your sister. No matter wha' you say."

Ana drew in a shuddering breath. She watched the muscles in her brother's jaw twitch. He still said nothing, but she felt as though she could read his thoughts. Prescott's plan had not gone south until Ana snuck aboard Norrington's ship and decided to take matters into her own hands. Matters that should have been left to the real pirates. She had no doubt Prescott was thinking that if Callaghan didn't kill Ana, he might be better off doing it himself. The lady could barely see Jack, out of the corner of her eye, but, could she have seen him, a similar opinion would probably be in his dark eyes.

She bit her lower lip, painfully aware of the loaded gun pressing into her flesh. From somewhere beneath the mess of steel criss-crossed over his chest, Ana could feel the pulse of Callaghan's black heart. It was not racing a hundred times per minute, like hers. Instead, it's cadence was slow, steady. The mercenary was not frightened or anxious. He'd been lying in wait, buying his time until the wind blew his direction. Well, the winds had certainly shifted. Ana's life was in the hands of a professional, and, for the first time since this debacle began, she was terrified and utterly without hope.

"You won't give up Anamaria anymore than you'll take sides against Capt'n Sparrow," Callaghan declared. Prescott's scowl deepened. Black Charlie's eyes widened, as he regarded Prescott and the Irishman with open confusion. "Ah, yes, Charles," the mercenary said, his voice taking on the tone of superiority that had previously been lurking behind sarcasm. "Capt'n Tarret never 'ad any intention of betrayin' Sparrow an' joining up wit' you. If not for this lovely lass steppin' in an' completely foiling 'er brother's plan, you'd be strung up from _Loyalty_'s yard arm, no doubt."

Boothe glared at Prescott, the blind rage of an unintelligent man burning in his eyes.

"While we're being so open and honest," Prescott said, his voice threateningly quiet. "I suppose you'll want to be telling Charles, that the second his ruby was within your reach, the blade of this sword of yours would be buried in his back."

Ana felt the Irishman shrug. She could picture his face, alight with a smile that said _but, of course_. "I must say, Capt'n Tarret, you're one of the smarter adversaries I've ever had the fortune to face," he commented, nonchalantly.

Prescott seemed to tighten his grip around the hilt of Callaghan's sword. "Your compliment overwhelms me." Ana had no idea if her brother could still use a sword. She could not seem to recall if he was right or left handed. Either way, she felt confident that he would somehow find the ability to relieve Callaghan of his head, should this conversation end unacceptably. She was somewhat heartened by the thought of the Irishman's limbs dotting the landscape.

"I enjoy a challenge, an' you've given me one," Callaghan said. "Tis for that reason, that I'm willin' t' offer you a deal."

"After this startling show of disloyalty, why would I want to make a deal with a mercenary?"

"I got involved in all of this for a piece of Captain Morgan's 'eart. A fabled ruby which I've yet t' actually see. You, or maybe Capt'n Sparrow, are the only ones who know where she is."

"Still," Prescott said, his eye flickering behind Ana, presumably to Jack, for a split second. "I don't negotiate with hired killers. I don't trust Irishmen, and, so far, I don't like you." He took the sword down from his shoulder and pointed the tip to the ground, leaning on the blade as though it were a gentleman's cane. "Give me a reason, Irish."

"Ave you ever been to a wee haven name of _Mad Dick's Bones_?" the mercenary asked, seemingly changing the subject. "Remarkable town. Bartholomew Roberts 'imself used to operate out o' there."

"I know," Prescott interrupted, his voice a thin sneer. "He wasn't far from there when I killed him."

"Wha' about it?" Jack asked.

The pirate Captain's voice seemed to remind Callaghan that he was facing two adversaries, not just one. He turned slightly, pulling Ana along with him so that she could clearly see Jack and her brother. Jack's posture appeared every bit as relaxed as Prescott's save for his tightly clenched fists. "I'll be stoppin' in Mad Dick's Bones in one months time," the mercenary said. "I'll stay exactly three days. There's a tavern, by the docks, called Lily's. I'll be there ev'ry night. If you bring me the ruby, I'll return Anamaria. If not, this is the last time you'll see her in this world."

"Why not just make this trade now?" Prescott asked.

"I know another mercenary when I see one," Callaghan answered. "Soon as you 'ave Anamaria back, you'll kill me for what I've done."

Jack took a step forward. "Wha' makes ye think I won't kill ye a month from now?"

Ana's breath quickened at the sound of the pirate Captain's voice. Calm, quiet … undeniably murderous. She was disappointed by the face that she could almost feel the Irishman smile in response to Jack's threat. "Let's jus' say, I like my odds better at Lily's pub. So, Capt'n Sparrow, Capt'n Tarret, do we 'ave a deal?"

"Didn't leave us much choice, did you?" Prescott said.

"One month, then," Callaghan said, nodding to his enemies. He tugged on Ana's arm, securing his grip and pulling her back from Jack and Prescott, towards the trees. The Irishman was quite careful to keep his pistol touching the skin of Ana's chin, never letting the lady forget what was at stake. She swallowed back frightened tears, biting down hard on her lip.

Chuckling victoriously, Black Charlie made a move to follow the mercenary and his prisoner. Almost too fast for Ana to see, Prescott swung the curved sword up, slapping the wide blade against Boothe's chest. "Where d'ye think your goin?" Jack asked.

Now, Prescott laughed. "You and I aren't finished, yet."

"Callaghan, do something," Boothe demanded.

"I 'ave done something. I'm taking my men back to _Loyalty_, an' we're leavin."

Charles again started to follow the Irishman, and again he was stopped by the sword in Prescott's hand. This time, Ana's brother turned the sharpened end to Boothe's flesh. Black Charlie scowled. "But, I'm your Captain!"

Callaghan shook his head. "Standing at the helm of a ship, doesn't make a man a Capt'n," he said. "Don't try t' follow me, Tarret," he warned. "If so much as one 'air stands on the back o' my neck, an' I think I'm being tracked … " he paused, leering down at Ana. "Well, I've been a mercenary for long years, an' there's things I can do t' a person that are worse than death."

TBC

I'm in a bit of a hurry at the moment and I deeply regret the fact that I can't respond to each of you like I usually do. So sorry. If you had any pressing questions, just repeat them in this next review, and I promise I'll answer them next time. Thanks, as always, for the reviews. I can wait to read your feedback for this chappy!


	28. Hell Cat

Disclaimer: I don't own PotC or any of her characters.

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: "Hell Cat"**

Worse than death? So many aristocratic women of Anamaria's financial status would have scoffed at the notion of anything being more awful than leaving this world of earthly riches for the unknown. Since she figured most of that breed were bound for hell, Ana didn't exactly blame them for their narrow minded views. Ana had a lavish estate complete with gardens and a breathtaking view of the azure Caribbean Sea. She had clothes of the finest fabrics, jewels aplenty, a full compliment of servants, and the eye of an Admiral with a killer set of dimples. Of course, if one were to look a bit closer one would see that Ana was a widowed by a scoundrel of a man who left her material wealth but broke her heart. She'd seen both parents and one older brother buried before their time, and she was now short one maid who'd been slain by a sadistic pirate, but still, on the surface, what could be worse than death?

Ana, however, knew better than the rest of the blue-blooded twits that frequented Kingston's social scene. Unlike those women, Ana knew how the world worked. When, Callaghan had threatened her with something worse than death she could effortlessly imagine of what he spoke. Ana could quite easily draw to mind the ghastly images of the Spanish prison in which she'd first seen Jack Sparrow. She had yet to see more blood in one place than she'd seen covering his battered body that day. Ana could picture Prescott lying in a hospital contemplating the rest of his life as a cripple. That useless despair had to be worse than dying.

It was because Anamaria knew of things worse than death, that she kept her mouth shut as the Irish mercenary dragged her farther and farther away from Jack and Prescott. She was convinced that Callaghan would make good on his threat, and she had no wish to be on the receiving end of the kinds of torment she was imagining. Out of fear, Ana's lips remained tightly sealed, but that did not mean she was trotting meekly beside the mercenary like a tender lamb to the slaughter. Oh, no. Every chance the lady got, she dug her heels into the dirt, locked her knees, and became dead weight for the Irishman to grapple with. She was quite effectively turning a short walk through the woods into a strenuous trek.

After what the mercenary had promised to do to her, Ana doubted if Prescott or Jack would risk following him. Still, she could not help but feel that if she could just buy some time, she'd think of some way out of this disaster.

All of a sudden, Callaghan stopped his progression and shoved Ana up against the trunk of a tree. The lady, who'd been occupied praying for a miraculous escape plan, was completely taken off guard as her back connected with the bark. The Irishman's angry brown eyes and scarred face were only inches from her own. He was giving her the same glare that parents reserved for children who'd just broken expensive vases. An ugly stare that caused knees to knock together and apologies to flow like water over a fall. Once again, the Irishman's pistol was beneath her raised chin. "Wait for us at the gig," he ordered Murphy and O' something or other.

Swallowing, Ana tried not to betray her regret at the crewmen's exit. She was not especially found of either man. In fact, she couldn't even remember both of their names, but, more than anything, she did not want to be alone with Callaghan. Ana had thought she'd known what kind of a man the mercenary was, but she was beginning to think she'd been mistaken. He didn't seem like Jack anymore, at all.

"There's no reason t' make this 'arder than it 'as t' be," the Irishman snarled, looking as though he definitely wanted to add a few expletives to his statement.

Callaghan no longer resembled Sparrow in Ana's mind, because she did not believe she would find a decent man's heart buried somewhere deep down, no matter how long she spent digging. He did still resemble Jack in other ways, however. Earlier when Ana had purposely started an argument with the mercenary, she had discovered two things. First, the Irishman did not abide Ana talking down to him. Secondly, Ana had failed in her attempts to discover Callaghan's heart of gold, so she was forced to deal with his heart of stone. Well, if there was one thing Ana knew how to do, it was fight fire with fire.

The Irishman had not kidnapped some docile little kitten who did not know how to handle herself. Anamaria Tarret was anything but. For as long as she could remember, Ana had been forced to stand up to almost everyone she met. Her dark skin saw to that. As a result of a lifetime of fighting, a hellcat had been born in Ana's pirate heart. A savage panther with a quick intellect and a razor sharp tongue prowled in and out of the lady's heart and mind, protecting her from the cruelty of life. Her amber eyes blazed as the hissing feline came forward, ready to show Callaghan that he had gotten in way over his head.

"Oh, if the English girl behaves herself then you might not pass her around to your entire crew. Is that it?" Ana retorted, bearing her claws. The mercenary rolled his eyes and expelled a long breath. He seemed about ready to explain himself, but the lady pirate was not about to let him. She was mad, furious. She had snuck aboard Norrington's ship because she had truly believed that she could help Prescott and Jack. However, her every attempt to fix this fiasco had failed magnificently. Now, she had allowed herself to be taken captive. Her brother and Jack would have to come rescue the helpless woman who'd gotten herself into trouble again.

No. Not again. Not this time. The hellcat pacing back and forth inside of Ana's heart growled. She was going to get out of this. She was going to get back to Prescott and Jack. Anamaria was going to start acting like the pirate Jack had said she could be, and Callaghan be damned.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Callaghan," she began, her eyes narrowing. "Is your prize supposed to stay quiet and just accept her fate? Is that how this usually works? Just explain how meek and mild I'm supposed to act, for you're the one who's done this before, not I." Tears flooded the lady's eyes no matter how hard the panther of a pirate fought to remain composed. She was scared and frustrated, and what did she care if the mercenary saw it? Not like a few strategically placed sniffles would cause his resolve to crumble. Lowering her eyes, the lady caught sight of her distorted reflection in the half dozen knives draped over Callaghan's chest. Even without this refracted vision, she must look affright. Some horrifying mix of rage and despair.

"I've no intention of passin' you around to the men," the Irishman sighed.

Ana did not respond right away. She found her eyes inexplicably drawn to the throwing knives. A hold so strong, that she could scarcely tear her gaze away. In that instant, realization dawned in Ana's reeling mind. The pirate in her heart was jumping up and down, pointing excitedly to those gleaming blades. The answer to her prayer. "The crew doesn't get to have a go. Well, planning on keeping me to yourself, then?" she said, glaring up at Callaghan defiantly. Her words strengthened by the very real prospect of freedom.

"No," the Irishman's grip on Ana's arm loosened ever so slightly. "Look, none of this – "

The lady did not wait to hear the mercenary's unacceptable excuses. For whatever reason, his resolve had weakened the smallest bit. This was her chance, a chance that may not come around again. Ana had to act, or she'd be at the mercy of paid killers. Decisively, the hellcat grabbed one of the silver blades from the holster that criss-crossed the mercenary's body, and, without a second's hesitation, she plunged the knife into Callaghan's chest.

The Irishman's eyes shot open. He gasped as the pain from what Ana had done hit him with full force. Blood poured out from the fresh wound, soaking the dark shirt he wore. He looked at Ana with utterly shocked eyes.

Trying to mimic the deadly smile she'd seen only moments before on her brother's face, Ana glared at the mercenary. Mustering her strength, she pushed the Irishman off of her. Callaghan stumbled backward, crashing into another tree and sinking to the ground. Stepping forward, Ana picked up the pistol that the mercenary had dropped. "You shouldn't carry around so many knives," the piratess growled. "Someone's liable to get hurt."

88888

Prescott scowled as he peered though the trees in the direction of the unmistakable sound of marching feet. He supposed it was too much to hope that twenty or so booted feet belonged to a traveling gypsy troupe that just happened to be stranded on this, of all, islands. "Norrington," he whispered under his breath. That man had an uncanny knack for foiling even the best laid plans. Not quite a completely as Annie could, but he still possessed a rather remarkable talent.

The former officer was about to say as much to Jack, but the words dried up on his tongue upon seeing the pirate Captain's expression. Fists still tightly clenched. Dark eyes appearing even darker than usual. If looks could kill, Prescott would have been surprised to remain standing.

"Jack," he began. "You seem upset – "

"Upset!" Jack repeated the word, his arms flying out to the sides as though Prescott had just said the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. "You're bloody well right I'm upset. You let 'im take 'er!" The pirate Captain looked nothing like the drunken buffoon he usually emulated.

Prescott had every intention of offering up an explanation to his partner. He was full well planning to say something about this being far from over and telling Jack to just trust him a bit longer. However, Prescott found that speaking was quite difficult when he was falling to the ground after being punched squarely in the jaw. The deceptively hard sand rose quickly to meet the tumbling pirate, and, his luck not improving, Prescott's full weight was taken by his newly diminished shoulder. A bitter agony that rivaled the moment in which Prescott had actually sawed through muscle and bone erupted in his shoulder, spreading fast to every corner of his body. Wounds that had never really closed burst back into action, spilling blood anew. His vision swam and blackened at the edges, but, unfortunately, unconsciousness refused to claim him. Prescott didn't remember screaming, but Billings said later that he did.

The pain did not end there, as he lay shaking on the ground. Not by a long shot. Jack was furious, fueled on by the loss of his lady. He fell on top of Prescott, using his body to pin the older man down. Prescott could barely draw breath for the pirate's weight on his chest. Blow after angry blow exploded against either side of his swollen, bloodied face.

It occurred to the former officer, somewhere in his pain clogged brain, that the only way to stop this excruciating assault was to speak up. But, his badly abused jaw was refusing to follow any orders. Not that his intellect could have come up with anything to say anyway, so focused was his mind on one thing. Pain. Bitter hurt that was throbbing throughout his entire being and slowly starting to numb the right side of his body. Black out was close and Prescott prayed to merciful God that unfeeling darkness would claim him, soon.

Prescott's salvation came then, not from unconsciousness, but from the newest addition to this merry pirate band. Lieutenant Billings, after recovering from the initial shock of Jack's savagery, bravely entered the fray. He threw himself against the enraged pirate, knocking Jack off of Prescott's chest.

Slight relief came, then, in the form of a devastating, full breath. A man could not live without oxygen, Prescott, however, dearly wished that he could. The air filled his lungs, drawing him back from the clutches of black, sweet repose. It flew to every wound, both new and old, making the battered pirate acutely aware of every cut, every scrape, and every ounce of lost blood.

"Stop it!" Billings was yelling. "Stop it, you'll kill him."

Prescott coughed, as though illustrating the young lieutenant's point. More blood spilled out from his lips. _Courage, Captain. _He clamped his eyes shut, willing the pain to dissipate, just slightly. _Face it bravely, strong or weary_. Just enough so he could manage to speak, maybe even to stand.

"It's no less than 'e deserves," Jack shouted back. "For just letting 'is sister be taken by that mercenary."

88888

Anamaria burst back into the clearing in front of the cave only seconds after those damning words had left the pirate's lips. She had been about to excitedly tell Jack and her brother that she had finally done something right on this godforsaken voyage. Not that she was proud to have taken a man's life, but she was proud to have successfully saved her own, without any help from the _professional_ pirates. She had been ready to tell both men how she had taken a hardened mercenary completely by surprise, but her voice suddenly became lost in her throat. She simply stood at the tree line with her mouth hanging open.

Ana had not anticipated a jubilant welcome ceremony. She knew better than to expect Jack or Prescott to be moved to tears upon seeing her safely restored. However, she really did not expect the scene that awaited her. Prescott was on the ground, covered in fresh splashes of blood. He looked horrible. Jack was backed up against the rocky cave entrance, being restrained by Norrington's wayward lieutenant, Billings. Jack looked angry and … guilty.

"What's going on here?" she asked tentatively, not sure if she really wanted to hear the answer.

"Ana?" Jack's voice was completely surprised. "You're alright?" The pirate Captain pushed away the younger man and rushed to Ana's side. He seemed as though he wanted to hug her, but stopped himself.

"Yes. I'm fine," the lady answered, somewhat distracted by her brother's struggle to get back on his feet. He did finally manage, with a great deal of support from Billings. He still looked horrible. What in the world had happened here?

Prescott drew in a ragged breath. His whole body seemed to shudder. "How?" he rasped. "Where's the mercenary?"

Shaking her head, Ana said, "Callaghan? He's dead. What happened to you?"

"Dead?" Prescott repeated the word as though his brain were foggy and nothing was processing correctly.

"Yes," Ana waved away his inquiry. "But, will someone please tell me what's going on here? What happened to you, Prescott? And where's Boothe?"

TBC

Well, I know this chappy was a bit shorter than most, but when I wrote the last line, well, it just had to end there. I'm sure the next chappies will be back to their customary length. Also, a little note for those of you who are also reading "Kindling." I have been working diligently on that story, but what I've written may give away too much of the ending for this story. So, I'm going to finish "Brothers" first, then I'll post what I've got for Kindling. Sorry to make you wait.

SylviaD: I'm still happy to hear that you appreciate Norry and the part he plays in my stories. And yes, we are most definitely heading towards a showdown. Don't worry, the pirates (Jack included of course) will be taking center stage very soon!

An-Angel-In-Hell: Hmm ... you don't like cliffies? Well, then, kindly disregard the ending to this chapter!

Cal: First and foremost, I must thank you for the title to this chapter. Since the first time you called Ana a hellcat in one of your reviews, I have been wanting to enclude it somehow in one of my stories. So, I hope you don't mind my borrowing your favorite nickname for our favorite lady pirate. Secondly, I must ask your help. I too have noticed that the stories I'm reading just aren't updating fast enough to leave me satisfied. So, I was wondering if you'd recommend a couple really good Jack/Ana tales to me (hopefully ones that are complete) cause I need a good long dose of Jack/Ana drama! Just one thing from your last review that I want to address, you said you were a little surprised by Callaghan's proposal. I wrote that b/c there needs to be a reason for Jack/Pres to let Callaghan get away. If they think that he's just going to kill Ana as soon as he's out of sight, then they might get into the "nothing to lose" mindset and try to stophim. So, he has to convince them that if he gets away, they may see Ana again. Now, go read my chapter, cause I'm dying to know what you think!

Yuna-Flowering: Well, what do you think of Ana now?

Thanks for the reviews, I hit the 200 mark with your last batch so thank you so very much! Your feedback means the world to me.


	29. Debts Repaid

Disclaimer: I own nothing from PotC

**Chapter 29: Debts Repaid**

"Will someone please tell me what happened here?" Anamaria raised her voice, because no one seemed to be even hearing, let alone answering, her inquiry. "Where's Boothe?" She turned to her brother. "Did he do this to you?"

"Ana," Jack spoke up, quietly. He wasn't meeting the lady's eye. He was watching the ground and twirling one of his rings around his index finger. "I –"

Prescott cleared his throat loudly and stepped away from the lieutenant's support. "Yes," he said, his voice clear and strong as it usually was. "He did," he paused, glancing at Sparrow. "Jack was ready to charge through the forest to find him, but there are the marines to consider, as Mr. Billings and I were trying to explain." A strange expression passed over the pirate Captain's face as he regarded her brother. Something silent, and secret, went with that expression, but the truth behind the meaningful look seemed to be more than either man was willing to expound upon.

"Yes, there are the marines to consider," Ana agreed, letting the subject of what really transpired drop, for the moment. This was not the time to stomp her feet and demand explanations. That time would come later, when a troop of marines weren't on the verge of leaping out of the woods. "Shouldn't we be heading back to the ship, to _Loyalty_?" she asked, steering conversation back to their immediate predicament.

Prescott bent down to retrieve the curved falchion from the sand. "Might as well," he sighed, staring at the blade. "I only wonder what sort of welcome we will receive from the mercenaries once they've learned that their leader has expired." Prescott's eyes met Ana's. "Expired in a rather unnatural manner."

Her brother held her stare for a moment longer, but Ana could not deduce whether or not he was pleased by her decisive action. His lips were pressed together in the fashion he usually employed when he was irritated by something, but, then again, she had not really expected him to thank her. She may have eliminated one problem in killing Callaghan, but, as was becoming normal, she had created a few more. Being a pirate really was much more complicated than Ana ever would have anticipated. "Isn't there some sort of code among all you lawless types?" she asked, frustrated. Prescott and Jack both raised their eyebrows at that remark. Ana went on without acknowledging them. "Something about if we kill their leader we inherit their loyalty?"

Jack grunted quietly, trying unsuccessfully to keep himself from laughing. Prescott furrowed his brow. "You've been reading romance novels again, haven't you, little sister?" Ana felt her face flush. Even Billings seemed to be chuckling at her comment. "Annie, none of this," he gestured with Callaghan's sword, "happens in books. In those stories, the damsel is taken by the evil villain. The dashing pirate Captain comes to her rescue. She falls instantly, and madly in love and they sail away together. The damsel's brother is miles away on his ship, happily pouring himself a glass of Madeira with _two_ hands, having never been dragged into the fiasco in the first place."

"Aye," Jack added, laughing. "The evil villain is punished for 'is crimes, an' the Navy is no where t' be seen. Happily ever after an' on an' on."

"Fine," Ana said through gritted teeth. "You've made your point. Now, the marines are closing in on us, and the mercenaries will kill us on sight. So, what, dear Captain's Sparrow and Tarret do you propose we do!" Ana raised her brow and crossed her arms. Let the two scoundrels come up with a better plan, if they were going to tease her for hers.

"Allow me to make your decision a bit easier."

Prescott clicked his tongue inside of his mouth and scowled, never getting the chance to answer his sister's annoyed inquiry. Ana turned to face Admiral Shane Delaney, James Norrington, and a contingent of about twenty marines stepping out from the woods. Each soldier, armed with musket or pistol, had their weapon trained on the four people standing helpless in the clearing. Ana sighed the hopeless sigh with which she was quickly becoming very accustomed. They were surrounded, cut off from escape on all sides. Again.

Ana could almost see the dozen curses waiting on the tip of Jack's tongue. He was clenching and unclenching his jaw and favoring the Navy men with a delightfully feral glare. She wished he would just let loose. This situation had gone from bad to worse to horrible to desperate so fast her head was still spinning. It was appropriate, in her mind, that someone should curse, and Jack could curse so beautifully when called upon to do so.

"Why do you insist on bringing _him_ along, James?" Prescott asked, his tone incredibly condescending. He stared straight at his former colleague, completely ignoring the Admiral. James' eyes widened, asking Prescott what in the name of heaven he was thinking. "I can accept being bested by a man for whom I've more than an ounce of respect," Prescott went on. "However, being bested by a man who excels only by others' misfortune is quite disappointing." Now, her brother's icy blue eyes did fall on Delaney. A small but clearly visible smirk hovered around his mouth.

"Then, be disappointed," Delaney shot back, not waiting for James to flounder for a diplomatic answer to Prescott's damning question. "And, kindly cast off your blade."

"Oh, this?" Prescott once again rested the strange sword on his shoulder. His stance was completely casual, betraying no hint of tension or anxiety. If Prescott was even a little deterred by the marines' appearance, the red coats would be hard pressed to see it. "I think I'll keep it, if it's all the same with you."

"It isn't," Shane said, in the quiet, angry voice Ana had heard before. Prescott's nonchalance, which was baffling his sister, seemed to be angering the Admiral. To Shane's mind, he was the victor. He had tracked the pirates, cut off all routes of escape, and had the foresight to bring reinforcements. All he was supposed to have to do was stand back and accept Prescott's surrender. The pirate, however, wasn't playing by the rules. He was not handing over his sword. He wasn't even having the good grace to act defeated. Shane shifted his weight and said, "Besides, what hope does one sword have against twenty guns?"

"Hmm," Jack put his finger to his chin and made a _tsk tsk_ sound. "Lefty, I don't think the Admiral's ever caught a pirate before."

"Don't call me that," Prescott said.

Delaney sighed. "If the two of you are finished …"

"I'm not." Prescott smiled as he turned back to Shane, and Ana saw something sparkle in his blue eyes. He was in his element. Prescott was so battered and bruised that he looked like a shipwreck on the verge of slipping beneath the sea. He was facing death without any hope of parole, and, in some bizarre, fatalistic way, he was enjoying himself. Ana regarded her brother with amazement. She could no longer see the upright, law-abiding Naval Captain. Ana looked at Prescott and all she could see was a pirate. "I'll tell you what hope I have, Admiral." Prescott took a step towards the marine standing to Delaney's left. "Sergeant White, here, was naught but a sniveling cadet when he first stepped aboard _Loyalty_," he paused, looking to Delaney's right. "And Mr. Kinten wouldn't have known which end of his musket to point at the enemy if not for the help of his Captain." The marines exchanged glances, looking both proud and ashamed to have served under Prescott.

"Not tha' many warships stationed in these waters," Jack added, spreading his arms out as though he were stating the obvious. "Marines do get shuffled around, don't they, Capt'n Tarret?"

"Indeed they do, Captain Sparrow," Prescott answered, his voice taking on a sing song cadence. Ana wondered if facing imminent death even fazed Jack or Prescott anymore, because it certainly did not seem to. "Shall I go on, Admiral, or have I made my point." Shane's eyes narrowed, his glare intensified, but he said nothing.

"Seems the Admiral's no' as daft as 'e looks," Jack said, his observation earning more than a few shocked gasps from the marines, and James, of course.

"Seems he isn't," Prescott agreed.

"How much more of this are you going to force me to endure?" Delaney asked, shrugging off the insult with the bored tone typical of blue-blooded gentry.

"Got a bit more, don't ye, Lefty?"

Ana's brother nodded, still ignoring the twenty odd guns aimed at his chest. "So, let us say that you are left with a dozen men who haven't served aboard my ship and had their respective necks saved by yours truly at least a time or two. Out of that dozen, how many can read?" Prescott glanced around as though waiting for a show of hands. No one moved. "What would your estimate be, Captain Sparrow?"

Jack shrugged elaborately. "Half?"

"Half? Excellent," Prescott spun back to face Delaney. Taking Callaghan's sword from his shoulder, he once again leaned on the blade as though it were a gentleman's cane. "Then, we can safely assume that half of that dozen grew up reading the illustrious Naval Gazette. I don't need to tell you, Admiral, that my name has graced those pages from time to time," he paused, grinning. "How many do you think will shoot a hero of Britannia?" Again, Prescott seemed to be waiting for an answer, but no one was about to speak up. His grin only widened. "What are we left with, Captain Sparrow?"

Furrowing his brow, Jack pretended to be doing the math with his fingers. "Six," he announced, his crazy smile matching Prescott's.

"Well, I think it's a given that at least a couple will have scruples about opening fire with a women so close by."

Prescott nodded his thanks to Ana in a way that almost made the lady laugh out loud. She felt as though she were in a play, and they were merely acting a scene in which four people were about to die. This had to be a play, for how else could Jack and her brother be so cavalier when facing their executioner?

"You, Admiral, are then left with only three or four who will actually fire at me. Now, I'm not at my best at the moment, that I'll grant you. However, amid the hail of several bullets, I think I can still manage to detach your smug countenance from your body." Prescott's smile broadened alarmingly. "Captain Sparrow, here, has been a pirate for many years, I think we can count on him to disarm a few of your men – "

"A few?" Jack feigned a hurt expression.

"I beg your pardon, but I'm giving the Admiral the benefit of the doubt," Prescott said, bowing slightly to Jack.

The pirate Captain sighed, waving his hand. "Have it your way," he said, giving Ana the distinct impression that he and Prescott had recited this insane piece of theatre before.

"And, of course there's Billings," Prescott continued. "He won't know exactly what to do, but he'll find a gun and defend himself. He usually does. That leaves my dear baby sister. She's the wild card here, Admiral. I'd watch out for her. I understand she's been killing people lately." The look of horror that passed over James' face at that comment would have been comical, had Anamaria not wanted to kill Prescott for saying it. If her brother was aware of her anger, however, he made no indication. Instead, he just pushed onward in that strange nonchalant voice used by deadly men when they were at their deadliest. "With your corpse getting cold at James' feet, he'll be expected to do something dutiful."

"Aye," Jack picked up where Prescott stopped. "But, we can take 'im t' Boothe."

"And as far as commendations and promotions from Admiralty are concerned, one pirate's as good as another," Prescott said.

"So, Admiral, ye end up in a wooden box about a foot shorter than ye are now," Jack concluded smiling.

Prescott's face became a bit more serious as he finished the scene with a decisively nice exit line. "And all of this was for nothing." Ana half expected Prescott to face his audience and take a bow after such an impressive performance, but he did not.

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James Norrington stared at his former colleague, his face a mix of stupefaction and disbelief. He did not know how Prescott managed to do it, but after listening to his rather lengthy speech, James almost believed that the Navy, and not the pirates, were at the disadvantage. Prescott had almost convinced him that they were better off waiting for reinforcements before they tried to apprehend the enemy. Truly, he had never met such an uncommonly gifted storyteller.

"You are quite the wordsmith, Tarret," Delaney said, voicing James' sentiment. "I've found only one flaw in your reasoning." Prescott's eyebrows rose. He lifted his chin, as though he and Delaney were engaged in a purely academic discussion, and he was very interested to hear the Admiral's thoughts. James wondered if he would ever be able to face death with such a disturbing indifference. Delaney pulled his pistol from his belt and trained the weapon on Prescott. "How does the ending of your story change, if I simply shoot you where you stand?"

The hero turned pirate's face flickered with uncertainty for only a fraction of a second. Had he not been watching for just such a change, James would have missed it entirely. "That would be unfortunate," Prescott said, once again calm and detached.

"Aye, unfortunate," Sparrow agreed.

James rested his hand on one of the two pistols he had shoved into his belt. Something was happening in this clearing, a strange heaviness had descended upon them. He felt as though the sand beneath his feet had turned to gunpowder, and one tiny spark was all that was required to send the whole island up in flames.

Delaney made a noise that was half a laugh and half a sigh. "I may never be the officer you once were," he said, startling James by his frank honesty. "But, nor am I a stupid as you wish me to be." The Admiral drew back his arm, but kept his weapon pointed at Prescott. "I did not gain every advance in my career by waiting for my superiors to refuse promotions. A few of those advances I actually earned."

Pulling one of the guns from his waist, James held the weapon at his side, leaving the barrel aimed at the ground. Delaney's voice, too, had become casual, disconnected. Norrington was beginning to believe he was surrounded by pirates.

"You talk a smart game, Tarret," the Admiral continued. "Very convincing. However, the sweat on your brow has not gone unnoticed. Nor has the weariness in your eye or the tremor in your arm."

The clouds in front of Norrington's eyes parted, and he could see everything that Delaney had just mentioned. Prescott did look very tired, and sick. James watched his former colleague's expression change. Prescott was no longer indifferent. He was no longer imperturbably confident. He suddenly seemed so much older. James' eyes drifted to Annie. She was watching her older brother with a similar scrutiny, and, from her face, she was thinking similar disturbing thoughts.

A sad thing indeed when one's hero becomes merely human.

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A thick, ugly lump began to take form in Anamaria's throat. She too became aware of the beads of sweat on her big brother's face, of the flush of fever in his cheeks. She wanted to go to his side, to lend him her arm for support, but she knew Prescott wouldn't accept her aid and would hate her for offering. So, she stayed put and watched a man who she had almost allowed herself to love systematically disarming the only family she had left.

"I'm calling your bluff," Shane said, his green eyes unwavering. "In your condition, I don't believe you could defend yourself against a school girl, let alone get me in a rush and take my head from my shoulders."

Ana carefully gauged her brother's reaction. His poker face held fast. She saw no indication of defeat. He gave no hint that there was any truth to be found in Shane's words. But, Ana knew the Admiral was right. She could not believe she had been so blind to her brother's pain before now. Prescott could put on such a strong, persuasive act, but how could she have expected him to be fine after what he'd endured. Of course, he was hurt. Of course, he was sick. He had just been tortured for days by a madman who knew no restraint. Prescott told her he was okay, and his foolish sister, too afraid to see the truth, had let herself believe his lie.

His face no longer open and casual, Jack seemed to be hearing the truth in the Admiral's words, as well. Reading his furious, black eyes, Ana would not have been surprised if the pirate Captain had gone for Delaney's throat just to shut him up. Again, Ana found herself wishing Jack would curse.

"You see," Delaney went on. "I know your confidence for what it really is. I can arrest you and bear you back to Kingston, but we both know you'll likely die on the voyage and never see the hangman's rope. It's not confidence. It's fatalism." Shane put his pistol back in his belt, letting everyone see that he knew he wouldn't need it. Nodding to his marines, he said, "Take these men into custody."

The next few moments would swim together and blur in Ana's memory. She would never remember exactly what had happened. The marines' red coats moved in from all sides. Two soldiers roughly took hold of Jack, and he fought against their confinement. He must have resisted out of habit rather than the hope of escape. No matter how eloquent Prescott's speech had been, they were surrounded. There was nowhere for the pirates to run. Two more soldiers came to the aid of their struggling comrades. Another pair guarded Mr. Billings, not that it was necessary. Somewhere in the middle of Admiral Delaney's words, the fight seemed to have gone out of the young lieutenant.

What Ana would remember, with startling clarity, was watching her brother fall to the ground. She watched him as she had been watching the whole exchange between Prescott, Jack and Shane, like she was watching actors deliver their last few lines before the curtain. She watched as though this horror were happening to someone else, someone else entirely.

She saw Prescott's face go pale, his eyes roll to the back of his head, and his knees give way. She heard Jack call his name. She saw the pirate break away from the guards that were holding him. He rushed to Prescott's side and caught her brother just before he would have hit the ground. Emotions that Jack was usually loathe to show splayed blatantly across his face. Disbelief, anger, and fear. Mostly fear.

Looking back, Ana would be shocked by her behavior, the complete lack of emotion or action. But, as she stood watching a man who wasn't supposed to give a damn caring for her big brother, she did and felt nothing. Simply put, what she was seeing in front of her eyes could not possibly be happening. She was standing in a state of complete denial. Prescott was her older brother, and no matter how long she lived or how many people she met, he would forever be the strongest man she knew. His skin was white. His face was slack. But, Prescott could not be dying. It was inconceivable that he could withstand so much only to leave her now.

Jack, however, did not seem so certain of Prescott's immortality. His hands were on her brother's shoulders, and in a voice that was hauntingly quiet he was begging Prescott to open his eyes. The fallen pirate, however, seemed not to be listening. The note of desperation in Jack's pleas tore at Ana's heart. She was not witnessing one crewman's concern for another. She was watching one man's grief at the thought of losing his brother. The scene was so tragically beautiful that Ana finally gave way to tears that she hadn't been willing to let fall, to sadness that she had not been willing to feel.

Delaney's marines had surrounded Jack, pulling on his arms in an effort to regain control of their prisoner. Jack held fast despite their attempts, refusing to give an inch. James Norrington stepped forward, authority in his stance and stern determination in his face. Ana was overwhelmed by the certainty that this was somehow the end.

"Marines," Norrington ordered, his voice brooking no denial. Ana turned away. "Stand down!"

The lady's eyes instantly reopened, wide as saucers. James was kneeling down beside Jack and Prescott. He placed his hand on the pirate Captain's shoulder and said something to Jack, too low for Ana to hear.

No one moved, not even Delaney. Too stunned were they by Norrington's actions. Allowing himself to be restrained by the marines, Jack nodded to James, a show of understanding, as something passed between two men. A moment in which bitter enemies stood side by side. A moment that was fleeting but undeniably forceful. Ana had seen the same look on Jack's face the night Prescott let him walk out of a cabin surrounded by a Spaniard and his soldiers.

Ana was beset, wrapped up in the feelings of two men. The silence enveloping the clearing was tense and smothering. It seemed unbreakable. Not by the sounds of birds chirping in the trees, the erratic drumbeat of her heart, or the clang of ships' bells just off shore. Absolutely impermeable. In that silence, Ana saw her whole future spiraling out of her control. Everything was falling apart. Jack was supposed to escape. Prescott was supposed to be okay, and in complete control. Shane, James and the Navy weren't even supposed to be here.

The terrific quiet was quickly becoming very loud, Ana's whole life was descending into chaos and noise. Instead of a happy ending, Ana saw Prescott's body being dumped uncaringly into the sea. She saw the hempen rope around Jack's neck. She saw Delaney taking her hand and heard herself making empty promises concerning sickness and health. Ana saw a life of lonely misery. Everything she had ever wanted was spinning farther and farther out of her reach and there was nothing she could do to stop its frenzied motion. The chaos was too crushing. The noise was too loud.

And, then, it all came screeching to a halt. The noise was silenced, and the chaos was ordered by the piercing sound of a gunshot and one voice.

An Irish voice.

Ana had seen the dead walk once before. Her husband, thought to be lost at sea, had reappeared in her life after she mourned his death for over two years. When he inexplicably reappeared, Ana had abruptly fainted. This time, however, she held herself rigidly atop her feet and ordered her mind to remain aware, as the tall mercenary stepped into the clearing. One of his throwing knives was still missing from the holster and blood, shiny and fresh, stained his dark shirt from the not so fatal wound that Ana had dealt him. In his left hand, he held a still smoking pistol. In his right, a second loaded gun was aimed at Delaney.

"Be on your way, Admiral," Callaghan ordered in his thick brogue. "You're surrounded by men who've long stopped fearin' death."

Ana sought Jack's face, not knowing what to think of any of this, not knowing if she should be pleased not to have killed the Irishman, or terrified. Jack, however, did not meet her gaze. His dark eyes were fixed on Prescott, who had mercifully regained consciousness and was propped up on his one remaining elbow regarding Callaghan with the same astonishment that was on every other face in the clearing.

Shane shook his head like a man just roused from a deep dream. He glared at the mercenary. His green eyes were narrow and cold. His lips were turned into a menacing glare. "You really expect me to believe that?" he said, his voice bored rather than frightened.

Callaghan's scarred face broke into a thin, unpleasant smile. "O' Keefe," he said.

The deafening rapport from a pistol thundered in the clearing. The marine sergeant who had started his career on Prescott's ship ended it on a tiny island at his Admiral's feet. His blood spilled out onto the ground, staining Delaney's hands.

"Believe me?" the Irishman snarled. "Now, what say you?"

Shane, who appeared to be giving the matter a great deal more consideration, shook his head. "I cannot give in to a pirate's demands," he said, his words an apology to the men who may soon pay for his position.

"That's good," Callaghan returned, his smile broadening. "I'm no' a pirate. I'm a mercenary."

Shane straightened, pulling himself up to his full height, which still fell an inch or two shorter than the Irishman. "My answer stands," he said, his voice strengthened by the belief that he was honoring his duty to King and Country and doing the right thing.

"You seem like a smart man," the mercenary mused. "I really would be sorry t' kill you." His shifted his gun slightly and fired. The marine who hadn't known which way to point his pistol wouldn't need to worry about such trivial things any longer. His young body hit the ground with a dull thud. Ana jumped at the awful sound, so high she was surprised not to have twisted an ankle on the return journey. Prescott, however, who now lay amongst two dead bodies, had not flinched. He and Jack were still as stone.

"Be on your way," Callaghan repeated, dropping his spent pistols to the sand and drawing two daggers from the holsters around each of his thighs. "Be on your way, an' no one else has t' die."

Shane was staring down at the ground, transfixed by the sight of two soldiers' blood seeping out of their bodies onto the sand beneath his feet.

Moving for the first time since the mercenary's appearance, Prescott struggled to his feet. No one moved to help him. "It's a dangerous thing," he said at last, his voice quieted by the strain of standing in a ragged body. "Bargaining with a man who's nothing to lose." His advice was weary, but undoubtedly wise. Shane regarded Ana's brother as a child would look to his father for counsel. He was a smart man. He could see that Prescott's warning was sound, even if it did go against everything that the Navy taught.

After a moment's silence, Callaghan shook his head. "Murphy," he said.

"Wait!" Norrington, who no longer seemed to be sharing quiet moments of understanding with buccaneers leapt in front of Delaney. "Admiral, with all due respect – "

"These men know nothing of respect, nor anything of duty," Delaney interrupted. "No matter what you may think, I'll not forsake my duty to save my skin."

Ana smiled in spite of herself. In the past few days, Shane had seemed like someone else, someone unknown to her. He had not been the charmer, who had danced with her and planted gentlemanly kisses on her hand. He had been driven by the desire to advance his career by capturing and killing her big brother. Ana had thought that all the respect she'd once had for the Admiral was gone. She'd been disappointed and angry that his Admiral's pennant was more important than she was. Despite these feelings, Ana was proud of Shane for standing his ground against his enemy. She did not like his quest against all pirates, and she probably wouldn't ever forgive him for wanting to hang Prescott, but a man who would value his duty so highly was to be respected. Never loved, but respected

"What of the lives of your men," Prescott asked, making Ana think twice about Shane's determination to do his duty. "Are they to be damned by the piety of their commander?" He paused looking to the marines, who'd just lost two brothers in arms. Ana noted, with a pride that wouldn't dissipate no matter what anyone said, that most of the soldiers were staring at her brother in awe and reverence.

"That's long enough," Callaghan broke in. "Your answer, Admiral?"

Delaney held Prescott's stare for a few more seconds, before turning his gaze to the mercenary. "I said, my answer stands."

The Irishman shrugged, not impressed by Shane's resolve. "Murphy," he said simply.

The night exploded with thunderous gunfire, a fourth time. Delaney's head snapped back and Ana screamed as the Admiral dropped to the ground. Blood poured out from a wound in the middle of his forehead. Shane's green eyes stared, unseeing up to the stars.

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"Captain," the mercenary turned to face Norrington. "You're in charge now. What say you?"

James pulled his eyes away from Delaney's recently deceased form. He knew his struggle must be plain on his face. He could not believe what the Irishman had just said. He did not doubt the sincerity of the threat, but he could not believe that he had the audacity to make it in the first place. Two marines lie dead. Admiral Delaney was dead, and this killer hadn't so much as blinked.

In his line of work, James had crossed paths with some of the most notorious pirates in the Caribbean. Still, no matter how horrible a villain happened to be, their bark was generally worse than their bite. This Prescott had told his colleague, many times. Even men like Charles Boothe could threaten the most unspeakable things, but the situation had to be hopeless for them to make good on those threats. Mostly pirates used threats to frighten people into handing over the swag. Few of them would shoot a man outright and then start negotiations.

This man with the scarred face, however, was turning out to be a completely different breed. Like he had just said, he was a mercenary not a pirate. He was not a treasure seeker. He was a paid killer. Death was part of his everyday life. He had become desensitized, a fact which, James was learning, made dealing with him extremely perilous business. James' train of thought came to a stop right then and there. It occurred to the Navy Captain that he had no idea why he was being made to deal with the mercenary in the first place. What did a mercenary care if Prescott or Sparrow lived or died?

"Why ask me to clear out?" James voiced his question. "What business is it of yours?"

The Irishman's brow rose. There was a faint smile lurking just behind his brown eyes. A smile that seemed amused at Norrington thinking he was in any position to be asking questions. "My business is with whomever has Capt'n Morgan's Ruby. So, at the moment my business is with these two gentlemen."

"You'd kill an Admiral of the Fleet and risk open war with the Royal Navy over a gemstone?" James asked, appalled by the lengths to which men would go for money.

"I'm no' riskin' anythin' if no one gets back t' the ships," the Irishman almost purred his threat, twirling his knives around into striking position. "Now, McMannus is waitin' for your answer?"

James heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being brought to bear coming from somewhere in the woods. The message that sound sent was almost as unmistakable as the sound itself. If James did not let three hardened criminals just walk away from justice, then this man was going to shoot him, certain sure. It was quite possible that the Irishman would kill each marine in turn until one was willing to answer his demands.

"Live to fight another day," Prescott's haggard voice rasped.

Good advice. Prescott had tried to talk Delaney into walking away. The Admiral hadn't listened. He stood his ground in the name of duty, and he died on that ground. James met his former superior's blue eyes. Prescott was tired. He seemed on the verge of collapse, but his eyes were still and grave. He didn't want to watch Norrington die anymore than James had wanted to watch him hang. "If it is war you seek," James said, favoring the mercenary with one of his most hateful glares. "Then, you shall have it." James paused. "Marines, to me," he ordered. The Irishman bowed slightly, a gesture of respect between sworn enemies.

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Had it been physically possible, Ana's jaw would have hit the ground. Never in her life could she have imagined the day that Norrington walked away from pirates in need of capturing. In fact, she would have laughed maniacally if anyone would have tried to tell her that she'd see it again in the near future when a blacksmith stood facing death beside a pirate, and a good man. The marines following Norrington looked almost as surprised as Ana, after hearing their Captain's orders.

Ana glanced at Jack. This time he was looking back at her. His deep black eyes were just as confused as she imagined hers to be. Emotions were at war within the lady. She was only a few feet from the body of a man in who's company she had spent a great deal of time. Granted that man had been willing to hang Jack and her brother, but what did the future hold now that Callaghan was in control. She had, at first, thought the mercenary was just a man driven by greed. He was shortsighted and dangerous, but he did not mean her ill will. Ana, however, had been forced to reexamine her opinion after watching the Irishman callously kill three men. He had delivered her from one death only to leave her facing another, potentially worse, one.

Shane could have been counted on to act as a gentleman. He still wanted to kill Prescott, but at least there would be no cruel or unusual punishments involved. Letting her eyes wander over the various implements of suffering violence strapped to Callaghan's body, Ana could not say the same for the Irishman. She was almost sorry to see the last redcoat slipping out of sight.

Ana had barely scraped her jaw off of the ground and reaffixed it to her face when gravity pulled it down again. As soon as the last marine had disappeared, Callaghan let his daggers fall to the ground. The soulless killer rushed to her brother's side. "Sparrow," he said. "Lend a hand." Jack hesitated for a split second, before doing what his heart had been wanting to do ever since Prescott had shown signs of weakness. Callaghan regarded her brother. "Almost didn't think you were goin' t' make it."

"Me?" Prescott said, his voice having been reduced to a whisper. "I'm right as rain."

Callaghan's men emerged from the woods, each of them occupied with the re-holstering of various pistols and other weapons. Ana's eyes leaped back and forth from the men to their leader. No one seemed to be at all concerned with finding the ruby, let alone killing anyone else. "Prescott?" her voice sounded small.

Her brother did not face her, instead his eyes went to Callaghan. "Sorry my sister stabbed you," he said.

"Likely I'll live," the mercenary answered, turning to flash Ana a scarred grin. "Though, I must say. When I see you out of this, I'll be expectin' an apology."

Jack's furrowed brow suddenly straightened. He smiled and actually laughed, which only earned an irritated glare from his lady. "Don't count on it," he said, chuckling again. "To the devil wit' ye, Scotty," he said. "The mercenary's been part o' this all along?"

"Wait," Ana interrupted any attempt Prescott might have been making at a reply. "You know Callaghan?"

Prescott coughed, his strength seeming to wane. "Aye," he answered.

"How is that possible?" the lady asked, not knowing why she was the last one to know about any and all of her brother's plans.

"Irish here has been a wanted man for going on ten years," her brother began, rasping his way through a story that was probably more than he could tell. "This is not the first time we've crossed paths . . . " Prescott's voice descended into a fit of coughing.

"Lucky for me," Callaghan picked up. "Captain Sir Prescott Tarret knew the value of having a mercenary in his debt."

Ana quirked an eyebrow. "When, you said you had a debt to repay … You meant Prescott, not Boothe" The mercenary nodded. "You might have mentioned that."

"I did try, lass," the Irishman said, looking down to his bloodied shirt. "But, as I recall, you weren't in the mood for listening."

Ana rolled her eyes. Was it possible that she almost completely ruined everything, yet again? Unbelievable.

"Bloody Norrington didn't look too 'appy when 'e left," Jack spoke up, cutting short Ana's frustrated self-scrutiny. "Time we were away?" Before anyone could echo Jack's concerns, Prescott's last reserves of strength emptied and he fell to the ground, unconscious. Dropping to his brother's side, Jack shook his head. "Or maybe the time to leave's already passed." Billings, who had been watching everything with dumbstruck silence was instantly at Prescott's other side, helping Jack to lift the fallen officer from the ground.

"Back to _Loyalty_, then?" Callaghan gestured to his men to move out. Then, turning to Ana, he nodded for her to go ahead of him. "You'll not catch me unaware again, fair lass," he chuckled.

TBC

Well, there you have it a longer than usual chappy to follow a shorter than usual one. I do have to admit that I gasp posted without proofreading. I wanted to get it up for you all before I went to bed, so I ask that you kindly overlook any silly errors.

SylviaD: Please when you leave a review don't worry about offending me. I want to hear any/all feedback, even if it's critical. I think I took care of your first concern with this chappy. And as for your second, I'm also going to address that in the upcoming posts. But, for the moment I'll tell you why I think Jack reacted that way. First of all, his feelings for Ana have changed. I think this is the first time in which he realizes that she means more to him than some of the other women that have passed through his life. Second, Jack is still getting used to the brotherhood he shares with Scotty. His last first mate betrayed him. His dear friend Bootstrap is dead. I haven't delved into his family much, but let's say that, when I do, that's not all champagne and roses either. I think he still has trouble trusting Scotty's friendship, so when things go wrong, he just expects to be betrayed. I don't know if that explains anything better for you, but that's kind of where I'm coming from.

An-Angel-In-Hell: Ana's working on becoming a pirate, so some of the things she does may be surprising even her!

Cal: Like DaVinci asking youhow to draw? You are too kind, but don't worry, I draw pretty well so I won't be needing your help there! I'm glad you appreciated my borrowing your nickname for Ana. It just fits her so well doesn't it? I'm sorry to leave you a little torn about what Ana did to Callaghan. I wonder what you'll think of her actions after you read this update? I wondered what you would think about Jack's treatment of Pres. I know it was a bit much, but I think when driven to it, Jack can be an incredibly passionate person, and our beloved pirate Capt. doesn't do anything half-assed does he? I'm very interested to know what you think of the explanation given for Pres' rather unfortunate condition. So, please, go read. I can't wait any longer!

Yuna-Flowering: Doesn't seem quite right, eh? ...

Thanks so much for all the feedback. Please keep it coming!


	30. Back on Track

a/n: Well, it's been a 100 years since I've updated. Real life intervened and got in the way of writing. I humbly apologize and I can only hope someone who remembers this story is still out there and waiting to read it.

Disclaimer: Even after my long absence I still own nothing from PotC.

Devil's Regards

"Row, damn you," Captain James Norrington shouted as the _Interceptor_'s longboat pulled away from shore. "Put your backs into it."

James had never liked Admiral Delaney. He did not like the way the Admiral ran his ship or his squadron. He did not like the way Delaney had come to be Admiral in the first place, and he really did not like the way the man looked at Annie. Still, Shane Delaney had been commander of the West Indian Fleet, and James' superior officer. He'd done a decent job capturing pirates, fighting the French and the Spaniards, and keeping order at home. The man didn't deserve a thankless death from a mercenary's bullet. _Live to fight another day_, Prescott had said. Well, James was living to fight later this same day. That Paddy killer was going to pay for his callous violence.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, James called out to the men aboard his ship. "Prepare to make way," he ordered. "Man the capstan. Loosen the head'sils."

Having first seen the tall Irishman aboard _Loyalty_, Norrington assumed that the band of paid assassins would be making their way back to the ship. Boothe had disappeared somewhere in the middle of everything, but James couldn't see the mercenary waiting around for him. As Norrington had seen with his own eyes, the Irishman was a man of action. He wouldn't have the patience for delays. No, _Loyalty_ would be heading out to sea, and _Interceptor _would be snapping at her heels.

The longboat came up alongside of Norrington's ship, and the deck was already alive with activity. His new first lieutenant, Gillette, saluted as James ascended the stairs to the quarterdeck. "Mr. Gillette," he said. "Signal to flagship: Admiral killed in action." The younger officer only hesitated an instant, in wide eyed horror, before rushing to carry out his Captain's orders.

Norrington drew in a deep, resentful breath as he watched the _Interceptor_'s sails fall into place and begin to catch the wind. The Admiral was dead, and he hadn't died gloriously in battle or mercifully in his bed. Shane Delaney's life had been snatched away by a murderous villain who'd probably gotten away with a dozen crimes just as vile. Well, not this one. That Irishman was going to pay for his crime, and James intended to be the bill collector. He would give chase and see that mercenary dead if he had to send _Loyalty_ to the bottom of the ocean to do it.

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"Row, damn you!" Callaghan shouted as soon as the mixed band had piled into _Loyalty's _quarterboat. "Put your backs into it, boys."

Anamaria was once again struck by the feeling of being an actress in a play. What else could possibly account for her occupying the same boat as the man who'd mercilessly shot the Admiral of the West Indies? Right now, a ruthless killer was sitting beside her, his hand on the tiller, guiding the small rowboat back to her brother's ship. He did not appear at all distressed by what had just happened. He'd offered no words of apology or explanation. The bloodthirsty Irishman had shot and killed three men without so much as a backwards glance. She recoiled as the mercenary's arm brushed against her own. Callaghan's brown eyes turned to the lady, regarding her curiously.

"How could you?" she asked, her voice a low, menacing hiss. No one else in this boat seemed to care at all for the men who'd met their untimely end on the beach of that damnedable island. Jack, had even gone so far as to laugh when he realized that Callaghan had been in on Prescott's plan from the start. Billings, God bless him, was probably too shocked to know what to think. And her brother, her dear, big brother, had actually employed this man's services. She wondered if Prescott shouldn't have hung the Irishman when he'd had the chance. "How could you?" she said again, her words dripping with blind hatred.

The hellcat's hackles were up. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end and she was so livid that she was almost shaking. Ana was not upset because she'd been kept in the dark about yet another of Prescott's schemes. She was not furious with Callaghan because of the way he'd heartlessly killed three men. She was mostly angry at herself for being so wrong. It was hard to hate the Irishman for what he'd done. He was a killer, and it was in his nature to kill. Ana, however, was finding it very easy to hate herself for thinking she could find the good in the mercenary. Time and time again he'd told her not to bother, but Ana had kept digging for Callaghan's heart of gold. It wasn't there, and now they both knew it.

The mercenary's eyes became grave. "I saved your life," he said.

"You took three more," Ana argued. "You shot the Admiral without thought or provocation!"

Callaghan clicked his tongue inside of his mouth, his face becoming defensive. "I thought you, of all people, would understand tha' sometimes it's necessary t' kill a man if he stands between you and you're freedom." The Irishman cast a not so subtle glance to the blood staining his own shirt.

"Do not dare to make that comparison," Ana warned. "We are nothing alike, you and I." Callaghan's brow rose, and the lady lifted her chin. "You were going to kill me," she justified.

The Irishman smiled ruefully. "No. I was going t' take you back t' _Loyalty_, and make sure you were safe, so your brother wouldn't kill me." He paused, sending a sharp glance Ana's way. "I was operatin' under the assumption that 'e was the more dangerous Tarret." Again Callaghan gestured to his bloodied shoulder. "Now," he said. "I'm no' so sure."

The small rowboat suddenly rocked violently from side to side and Ana became more focused on staying inside the craft rather than coming up with a smart reply to the mercenary's backhanded observation. Jack, who had apparently leapt to his feet rather abruptly, was standing in the bow of the boat and staring at something behind Ana, his black eyes a good deal wider than usual. He let loose a wholly inappropriate string of oaths before cupping his hands around his mouth. "Ahoy, _Loyalty_," he yelled.

Callaghan twisted around to see whatever had so caught Jack's attention. "Damn," he swore. "Connor!" he shouted in the direction of her brother's ship. "Get the boys on deck!"

"Get 'em aloft," Jack added. "Loose the sails and get us out of 'ere!"

Deciding she needed to see what had prodded two imperturbable men into action, Ana turned to gaze behind. She had expected to see a ship, either another pirate vessel or a Navy man of war. While neither would have been welcome, Ana had not been at sea long enough to be frightened by the tiny white dots that marked sails on the horizon. Only men who had made their lives at sea, and walked on decks broken by cannon fire and bloodied by the bodies of their shipmates could understand the threat of a sails that looked so small and insignificant. However, a woman did not need to spend a lifetime sailing to be frightened by the very clear, very large outline of a Navy ship coming around the island they'd just left. Especially when said ship was none other than _HMS Interceptor._

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Coming out from the shadow of Boothe's rocky island, James Norrington spied _Loyalty_. He could quite clearly see the stolen British Navy vessel, painted up to look like a Frenchman. He could easily watch Mr. Billings, formerly Lieutenant Billings, help a pirate carry Prescott Tarret's prone form up and over the side. He saw a woman in a man's uniform climbing the side of a frigate as though she'd been born for a life at sea. None of these things could hold his attention, however. For, all he wanted to see was a tall Irishman clad in black, like the angel of death he was.

"There," he said, at last finding the mercenary's form among the men on deck. James pointed to the silver-haired killer so that Mr. Gillette knew which one of the mercenaries was the true target of this mission. "That is the man who murdered your Admiral." The lieutenant nodded. "Pass the word to the men," Norrington went on. "That is the man I want taken …" he paused. "Even if they have to pass up Sparrow and Tarret to do it."

"What of Boothe?" Gillette asked.

"Boothe is no longer your concern," James snapped.

Almost funny was the fact that Henry Morgan's illegitimate little brother had once been the only concern of this mission. Now, he was barely an afterthought, as James bore down on _Loyalty_. Still, Norrington had all his bases covered. If Black Charlie wasn't on that ship with his mercenary accomplice, then he was back on his island, stranded. Once _Interceptor_ had acquired Admiral Delaney's murderer, and another pirate or two if Prescott Tarret was finally out of options, James could return to the island, capture Boothe, and return to Jamaica a hero on all counts. The commodore's office that Delaney had spoke of would be his, certain sure, not that Norrington was thinking at all about his career at such a time as this.

Times like this one were not the times to think of home, to think of his life among the proper people living in the Caribbean colonies. James was an ambitious man, so his eye was always on the Admiral's pennant. However, in the moments before action, he very rarely thought of that flag, waving above _HMS Dauntless_. Days like this one brought his baser instincts to the surface. Battle lust, pure and unadulterated usually overtook the rigid Naval Captain. Today, that unbridled energy was tainted. Today it swirled and mixed with his desire for retribution. He would avenge his Admiral as he avenged his own honor. That vicious Paddy would go to hell for his brutality, and if Sparrow and Norrington's one time mentor went down with him, then England was that much safer.

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The mood aboard _Loyalty_ was tense, even below decks he could feel it. He could hear leaderless men with thick Irish accents speaking worried words. He could hear their bare feet padding back and forth across the deck not knowing where to go or what to do when they got there. He could even hear the normally authoritative voices of two men who must be rowing towards _Loyalty_ from his island. Even those voices were tinged with uncertainty.

Smiling the devil's smile, he shook his head, wondering at his good fortune. Everything was coming to a head. Norrington. Tarret. Sparrow. That backstabbing Paddy, Callaghan. And, Tarret's beguiling sister.

He could see Norrington and his Naval man of war closing in on the now famously infamous pirate ship. _Interceptor_ was a vessel of uncommon speed, streamlined beyond any other ship in the Caribbean. Not long before her astute commander caught up with the mixed band of pirates and paid assassins. Then, neither, the legend of the wily Captain Sparrow, the lies of the silver-tongued Tarret, or the dirty fighting tactics employed by mercenaries, could hope to neutralize Norrington's numbers.

All he had to do was sit and watch as his enemies killed each other.

After the carnage was ended, Captain James Norrington would assign a lieutenant and a small prize crew to sail _Loyalty_ back into His Majesty's arms. That would be his chance. As soon as the Navy turned her back on her prize, Black Charlie Boothe would seize the moment. He would kill the lieutenant in charge, in some way brutal enough as to shock sailors. Perhaps he would behead the young unfortunate. Appendages rolling about on deck did have the most amazing effect on men, especially when the eyes remained open and the mouth twisted in that finally horrified grimace.

Black Charlie may not have been the smartest pirate in the West Indies, but he knew the basics. Sailors, Navy and pirate alike, craved leadership. Whether or not they had ever respected or even liked the lieutenant, they did appreciate the order brought by the Navy system of command. When one leader fell, those sailors would quickly look for another one. And, though, they may not like it at first, in the absence of good leadership, they would content themselves to follow even a mediocre pirate.

In one fell swoop, Boothe would regain a ship and a crew. He still may not have his ruby, but he would be free to spend the rest of his life searching for it. He laughed, a low guttural sound, a malicious and victorious sound.

Tearing his eyes away from the ever growing form of _HMS Interceptor_, Boothe surveyed the quarters that would shortly be his. If not for the wall splitting the room in half, the cabin would have been magnificently large. A room that spoke of wealth even had it not been filled with the ill gotten gain of two pirate Captains. Charles moved to perch on the edge of Prescott Tarret's ebon wood desk. Running his finger down the polished surface, he scowled. Things would work out quite nicely for him, indeed. He only wished he could be the one to take the confident smirk from Tarret's face, to finish what he had started when he'd driven that spike through the pirate's shoulder. How satisfying it would be to hear Tarret's voice begging for Boothe to end his pain. Satisfying indeed.

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"Hands aloft," Jack yelled the second his boots hit _Loyalty_'s deck. "Loose the top'sils!" Anamaria could feel Prescott's ship spring to life beneath her feet as the brisk Caribbean breeze filled her sails. Almost as though _Loyalty _knew just how urgent the situation was becoming. If only the idling ship could have had a few moments more head start, and they might have been able to run away from _Interceptor_. But, James' lady was just too close. Her Captain too bent on vengeance.

The deck was heavy with a palpable sense of defeat. Callaghan's band of killers was rushing to obey orders like men who knew their end was near but wanted to go down fighting. Even Jack's voice lacked it's usual carefree, sing song quality. He was all business, all pirate. Leaping onto the quarterdeck, he grabbed hold of the wheel and became the legendary buccaneer from the stories. The faintest bit of stubble had begun to color his tanned cheeks, and his hair was flying free from the pigtail that had restrained those long locks. This was the pirate who successfully looted colonial strongholds and merchant ships. This was a man to be feared and respected by proper society. The lady listened to him spouting sailor jargon that she couldn't begin to understand and smiled in spite of her horrible circumstances. This was the man Anamaria loved.

"Get Capt'n Tarret to 'is cabin," Callaghan was telling one of his men.

Ana turned to see the only other man she dared to love being carried down below decks. Prescott, in employing a paid assassin, had acted reproachfully, but he was still the only family Ana had left in the world. The lady with a pirate's heart instantly became a scared little girl. The same little girl who'd answered the door late one night, before her mother had died. Prescott, only a midshipman at the time, was leaning on the arm of one of the lieutenant's from his ship. He'd taken ill with a terribly high fever, and the Captain had sent him home, fearing an outbreak on board. Ana remembered her mother bathing Prescott's chest with cool water and singing a song, low and quiet. Ana had crawled into her brother's bed and curled up close to his side. Her father had scolded her, saying she'd catch her death being so close to sickness. However, her mother, a woman of superstition and spirit rather than science, had known better. She'd said that Ana's heart would hold Prescott until he was strong enough to hold himself.

Ana blinked away a tear that had slipped out in the midst of her memory. She didn't know if her heart had helped heal Prescott, or if his stubborn determination had simply refused to give up. Either way, Prescott had gotten better then as she prayed he would get better now. She hated to admit that his chances were slim, as science and medicine seemed to have no place in a mercenary band. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you have a surgeon aboard?" Ana asked, her voice robed in distaste.

Turning on the lady, Callaghan almost snarled his response. Clearly, the man was losing patience with Ana's incessant accusations and condescending questions. Not that she cared how the Irishman felt about her. "Keepin' a man among the living 'as never been our specialty."

Ana's eyes narrowed, as the Irishman nodded curtly, seemingly very pleased with himself for having shut the lady up, for the time being.

"Well, ye damn well better concentrate on keepin' us alive, now," Jack interrupted. The pirate's dark eyes were even blacker than usual, and his voice was powerfully strong, no hint of the drunken half-slurring half-singing cadence that he customarily employed. "Get the rest of your men on deck."

No matter what Ana wished, this was not the time to ponder what kind of a man her brother was, or ever had been. Prescott's past was not her main concern. Instead, she needed to concern herself with his future, with all of their futures, before James Norrington and his Navy stole it away.

Ana pictured James standing atop _Interceptor's_ quarterdeck, a menacing and worthy adversary. His Admiral was dead and, in his mind, his duty was clear. He must avenge his fallen commander. James took his duty very seriously, and the lady could feel herself becoming frantically panicked. She hated that feeling. Delicate women were supposed to panic and faint in life or death situations, so that the men could gallantly save the day. Ana was not a delicate woman. She'd been practically orphaned when her parents died and was widowed four years ago. She had been a strong person making her own way in this world ever since, and she did not like standing on the deck of a ship watching men's chaotic activity and not knowing how to help. Much to her disgust, she found herself wanting to be gallantly rescued.

"Run out the guns ye lubbers!" Jack shouted, his loud, commanding voice breaking into Ana's consciousness. He'd ascended the stairs and was standing beside the wheel, shouting out orders like he'd been born for the quarterdeck. Had she more time, Ana would marvel at the way the drunken loon could completely vanish in the face of danger, replaced by the commanding presence of a truly adept sailor. No matter, however, who stood beside the wheel, the pirate Captain would not be rushing to anyone's rescue. "Man the sails!" he shouted, casting an anxious glance over his shoulder at _Interceptor_. Ana was hit with the bitter realization that Jack might not even be able to save himself from Norrington and the Royal Navy.

"Guns or sails, Sparrow," Callaghan yelled back from where he stood loosening the sails alongside his men. "Me boys are mercenaries, no' pirates!"

Ana could vaguely recall days gone by, sitting on the beach with her brother, watching the warships sail in and out of Kingston harbor. Prescott would always tell her the specifics of any vessel he could recognize. He'd once told her that a frigate, like _Loyalty_, could be sailed with less than twenty men, but for the craft to be an effective fighting ship, she would need over one hundred men to arm her. Ana didn't have to do a head count to know that Callaghan did not have a hundred men under his command. He'd need the luck of his people to find the twenty.

Handing off the ship's wheel to one of the Irishmen, Jack went to help Callaghan. "We'll be in range of _Interceptor_'s guns in minutes," he explained through gritted teeth. "If we're no' cleared for action, she'll make matchwood of us."

"Then, man the guns," the mercenary said.  
"If we don't tack," Jack pointed up ahead of the ship's bow. "We'll be aground."

"We can't manage both at once!" Callaghan threw up his hands in frustration once the sail had been secured. "Why no' just shoot each other and save the Navy some time?"

Jerking a pistol out of O' something or other's belt, Jack aimed the weapon at Callaghan's chest. "Or I could jus' shoot you," he threatened. "Ye killed the Admiral. You're the one bloody Norrington wants."

Though Jack's back was turned to Ana, she could hear his words with frightening clarity. She could very well imagine the hateful fire burning in the pirate's black eyes. Ana had been so caught up by the Irish mercenary's unfeeling cruelty that she'd forgotten how deadly Jack could be when provoked. He wasn't kidding around, or trying to lighten the mood. He was deadly serious and more than ready to end Callaghan's days among the living.

"If I hadn't 'ave killed Delaney, you'd be on your way to the noose by now."

"So, instead," Jack interrupted. "Ev'ryone on this ship is on 'is way t' hell!"

Callaghan was answering Jack's accusation, but Ana did not stick around to hear anymore Irish oaths. Finally, she saw a way she could be of some use. She could keep the pirate and the mercenary from killing each other and taking the entire ship down with them. That, Ana thought, was bound to be helpful. Running as fast as she could down _Loyalty_'s narrow stairways and corridors, the lady burst into Prescott's cabin rather unceremoniously.

Lieutenant Billings was beside her brother's hammock, covering him with a blanket. Prescott's pallor clearly indicated that he was feverish. The former Navy man was doing what was best for him, but after leaving the situation on deck, Ana wondered if the fever wasn't the least of Prescott's concerns.

"Mr. Billings, you're needed on deck," she said by way of explanation for her sudden appearance. No matter that the explanation happened to be a lie.

"I am?"

"They need sailors up there," Ana said, which was the truth. Callaghan and Jack needed someone who worked ships for a living, rather than any more paid killers. Maybe no one had specifically asked for Billings' presence on deck, but Ana wasn't in the mood to quibble over details. "_Interceptor_'s catching up fast. I'll stay with Pres."

Billings nodded his understanding. He left the cabin, looking as though he were about to salute the lady. Sighing, Ana regarded Prescott, lying motionless in his hammock. She loathed what she was about to do, even as she knew it had to be done. The Irishman owed Prescott a debt. Jack was Prescott's brother, in every way except blood, but the pirate and the mercenary shared no such bond between each other. If they were to be expected to work together, someone they both respected would have to orchestrate such an arrangement. Ana's brother was a master manipulator, and if anyone could convince Callaghan and Jack fight side by side, it would be Prescott.

Squaring her jaw, Ana slapped her ailing, big brother full on the face. "Wake up, damn you," she yelled, before hitting him a second time.

Blue eyes, bright with fever, blinked slowly before focusing on Ana. Prescott groaned, a pitiful sound that almost broke clean through his sister's stern resolve. "What d' you wan' Annie?" he mumbled weakly, his voice shaky and filled with pain.

Ana wanted to say _Nothing, sorry. Go back to sleep._ She could pull the blankets close to Prescott's trembling body, and let him get the rest she knew he desperately needed. She wanted to beg his pardon, to ask him to forgive her for completely botching any and every plan he had managed to come up with.

Then, again, what she wanted did not matter. "Your damned Irish friend is going to sail us all to our deaths if you don't get up on deck and do something about it," she shouted, hoping that Prescott couldn't see how much she wished she could just leave him alone. She was trying to appear angry, not scared.

Prescott blinked once, furrowing his brow as though concentrating on his little sister was enormously difficult. "What?"

"Jack says the guns have to be run out and we have to tact – "

"Tack," Prescott said, laying his arm over his eyes.

Ana scowled, even though she was secretly happy to see that Prescott had the presence of mind to correct her mistake. "Callaghan says he doesn't have enough men to do both," she went on. "When I left, they were ready to just kill each other and have done with it."

Prescott let loose a long suffering sigh. The lady could have hit her knees and thanked God when he threw off the blankets that Billings had so carefully wrapped around him. She did not want to push him so hard. She hated the agony that discolored his blue eyes, but they needed him. Jack was an exceptional pirate, but Callaghan had no reason to listen to him. It mattered little that Jack was a Captain whose knowledge and experience of sea action was far greater than Callaghan's. The Irishman was simply not accustomed to taking orders.

Prescott, with a great deal of effort, pulled himself up so that he was sitting on the hammock with his feet on the floor. Reaching for the pistol sitting on the table next to him, Prescott rose to his feet, nodding to his little sister. "Satisfied?" he said, apparently strong enough to be sarcastic.

Ana smiled broadly. "Very much so."

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"If you want me up on deck, Annie, you're going to have to help me," Tarret said, his voice delightfully weary to his enemy's ears. From his hiding place, Boothe watched, smiling, as the wounded Captain limped out of the cabin supported by his sister. He laughed, careful to keep quiet, but unable to contain himself. Crossing the room as the door closed behind the Tarret siblings, the pirate pulled out the chair behind Prescott's desk. Settling in, he reclined putting his feet on the desktop. He laced his fingers behind his head, closed his eyes and made himself comfortable.

Callaghan and Sparrow were on the verge of killing one another. Tarret was knocking on death's door … loudly. Only a woman and a band of leaderless killers remained.

This was going to be easier than he had dared hope.

TBC


	31. Not Just Victory

A/N: You are still out there! I'm so happy that you're still reading and interested in seeing how this story plays out!

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the PotC universe.

**Chapter 31: Not Just Victory**

James Norrington could have put the glass to his eye, if he'd wanted to see the pimples on his enemy's faces.

The fact of the matter was that _Interceptor_ was so close to _Loyalty_ that James could quiet easily watch the dissension on her deck without the aid of his telescope. He'd seen Jack Sparrow aim a pistol at the Irish mercenary. He was watching even now, as the two men were facing off. Fighting some silent battle with each other and within themselves. He saw them struggling to maintain the discipline required to prevent them tearing each other apart. It was a struggle they were bound to lose.

Perhaps conveying Sparrow on his ship had not been such a horrible mistake. The pirate may do half of James' job for him. Norrington smiled, a thin smile. He was almost allowing himself to feel satisfied. He would indeed be satisfied, if not for the fact that he'd been this close to victory before and seen it snatched from his grasp. Where Prescott Tarret was involved, one always had to tread cautiously and assume nothing.

"Sir," his new first lieutenant, Gillette, was coming alongside of Norrington. "We have them, Sir."

"Don't count your chickens before they've hatched, Mr. Gillette," James scolded, as he'd scolded many of his subordinates over the years. "You can announce victory once we've raised the ensign over _Loyalty_'s mast." _Back over _Loyalty'_s mast_, was what he'd wanted to say.

"I didn't mean to speak in haste, but look, there, Sir," the lieutenant pointed to the waters directly ahead of _Loyalty_ and offered his Captain the glass.

Norrington did not take the proffered telescope. He saw what had so excited the younger officer at his elbow. He saw the white caps of tiny waves looming ahead of his adversary. If _Loyalty_ did not tack, and soon, she'd be aground. Prescott and Sparrow were sailors. Neither man would let that fate befall his ship. They would indeed change course, leaving them no time to ready the guns. If she she wasn't cleared for action, _Interceptor_ would tear her to bits. The only option left was surrender. Mr. Gillette was right. They'd won, and, for the first time, victory over Prescott Tarret smelled as sweet as it should have.

Nodding, James allowed himself to go below decks. Not watching the approach, made him appear aloof and imperturbable to the men, even though his heart was racing with excitement. Victory. He could almost taste it.

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For James Norrington's victory to be assured, Prescott Tarret would have to admit defeat. Something he was loathe to do, no matter how much pain he was in or how hopeless the chaos on deck appeared.

Hopeless may have been an understatement. _Loyalty_'s guns were not run out, ready to fire at her enemy, and she was headed straight for shallow water. No one seemed too concerned over either, however, as their complete attention was consumed by the stand off between the pirate and the mercenary. They were heading straight for disaster. Prescott's beloved ship would be aground in minutes, leaving everyone who had the misfortune of being left alive at Norrington's mercy.

Customarily, at the mercy of his protégé was a place Prescott would not mind spending some time. He could talk his way out of danger and have James feeling guilty for arresting a former colleague, all without breaking a sweat. This time was different, however. The once Admiral Tarret had preyed too many times on his friendship with Norrington, pushed the Navy man two steps too far. He had no doubt that James would be quite pleased to see Prescott's body swinging from the hempen rope right alongside of Callaghan and Sparrow.

James had been driven to the point of needing vengeance more than justice. He wanted blood. He wanted his Admiral's death not to be in vain. This was one war Norrington had promised God, or the devil, that he was going to win.

Prescott stopped abruptly in the doorframe that looked out onto the maindeck. Annie, who'd been lending her brother support, walked right out from under his shoulder. Pain shot up and down his spine, but the former Navy hero didn't feel a thing. "He wants a war," Prescott said absently.

War not victory. Prescott had used James time and time again, but, in all truthfulness, James had not yet been pushed too far. He did not want to see Prescott hang. James wanted to goad his one time colleague into a fight, so that Prescott would die gloriously in battle, not defeated in Kingston's town square. James might very well hate Prescott, but he still did not want to be responsible for the death of a hero of England.

His sister's expression was one of complete confusion. "Prescott are you quite well?" she asked, obviously thinking that her pirate brother had gone off his head. Maybe she was right.

"Don't you see, Annie," Prescott faced his sister, grabbing her by the shoulder. "James doesn't want victory. Not _just_ victory. He wants a fight."

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Anamaria did not have the foggiest idea what her brother had in mind. Mere moments ago, he'd been knocking at death's door patiently waiting for his Maker to invite him in. Rising from his hammock had been a monumental endeavor. He'd even gone so far as to ask his baby sister to help him walk. But, now, if Ana couldn't quite clearly see that Prescott was still missing an arm, she'd hardly think him injured at all. She'd seen that familiar confident spark in his light blue eyes. They were no longer steering themselves straight towards certain death. Her brother had a plan, and all was once again right with the world.

"Jack!" Prescott bellowed, his voice full of a strength he had not possessed only minutes earlier. "Belay that! Callaghan, stand down, damn you!"

Ana followed Prescott across the deck, ready to lend her aid should he require it. At least, that's how she justified her trailing along. She knew, however, that he most definitely did not need help any longer. He had an idea, and his ragged body had been strengthened by the prospect of putting some kind of plan into motion. Still, she followed. After all, someone needed to listen to what her brother was going to say to Sparrow and the Irishman.

"Scotty?" Jack's black eyes were wide. Prescott seemed to be the last person he expected to see. A sentiment that was decidedly reflected in the face of the mercenary. Two men who had been coiled cobras ready to strike death's blow now stood utterly dumbfounded.

"Are you deaf, Sparrow?" Prescott continued to shout. "I said, stay your weapon, man." Jack did as he was bid, almost as though he were too shocked to act otherwise. "_Interceptor_ bites at our heels and the two of you decide this is a fine time to quarrel between yourselves?" Prescott scolded, using the same tone he'd used dozens of times to admonish Ana or Fin when they'd been much younger and seen so much less.

Callaghan's tall body stiffened surely as if Prescott had struck him. A great many years must have passed since the last time someone was brave, or fool, enough to scold the Irish mercenary.

"Scotty," Jack spoke up. "I was trying t' explain – "

"A Captain does not explain, Jack," Prescott interrupted his brother. Now, it was Jack who straightened, verbally slapped across the face. "A Captain gives orders and is obeyed."

Ana's eyes widened at the obvious insult in Prescott's words. If he'd come right out and called Jack an incompetent sailor, the effect would have been the same. She was actually quite surprised that Jack didn't retrain his pistol on her brother. Jack was a seasoned sailor and had, no doubt, fought hard to be called _Captain_. Still, he made no move to retaliate against Prescott's grievous offense.

"And," Prescott went on after a slight pause. "Any mercenary worth his salt knows better than to turn his back when a fight is upon him." Callaghan turned his steely gaze to Ana's brother. At least he was insulting both men equally. "I think," Prescott was saying, "that I may have been overcharged for your services, Sir." Better to have two dangerous men angry with you than just one.

Callaghan stealthily pulled one of his throwing knives from the holster draped across his chest. "D' you 'ave some sort of plan," the Irishman asked, through tightly gritted teeth. "Or are you jus' turnin' allies into enemies cause we're all going to die, anyway?"

Prescott's beautiful blue eyes shadowed, becoming a dark, ugly shade of gray. "Threaten me with that knife again, Irish, and I'll be happy to let Norrington hang you."

"Bloody, stinkin' Norrington's goin 't' hang us all," Jack spoke up, his voice just as low and angry as Prescott's. "Only way t' save us from 'im is t' jump down to meet Davy Jones. We don't 'ave enough men t' run out the guns," he paused, gesturing around the near empty maindeck. "An' if we don't tack, then we'll be aground!"

"Then put her aground," Prescott spat the words as though that particularly crazy course of action should have been obvious. He glanced first to the mercenary then to Jack, daring either man to disagree with him. Both wanted to, Ana could see it in their eyes. Each was asking himself if he really trusted a severely injured, possibly delirious, man with their lives.

"On my mark men!" former Lieutenant Billings' voice broke the thick silence that had formed between the pirates and the mercenary. The young Navy man was standing at the wheel, a place he'd probably never stood while still in the King's service. Somehow, while Jack, Prescott and Callaghan had been arguing amongst themselves, Billings had managed to get the Irishman's crew into the positions necessary to put _Loyalty_ on a different tack.

"Belay that, Mr. Billings," Prescott yelled, just before the younger man was about to give the mercenaries the signal to perform their separate duties. "Hold our course." Neither Jack nor Callaghan said anything to counter Prescott's order.

"Sir?" the former lieutenant called back.

"Steady as she goes, Mr. Billings," Prescott shouted, barely biting off the curse with which, Ana could tell, he wanted to end his command.

"Aye. Aye," Billings answered, apparently he heard the unspoken rebuke, as well. "Steady as she goes, it is, Sir."

"We'll damage 'er hull," Jack finally found voice to disagree with his brother's idea. "We'll take in water, an' be stuck on the reef. That'll mean mannin' the pumps, puttin' men in the longboat wit' the anchor, an' settin' men at the capstan to pull us off the rocks. Once again, we don't 'ave enough men t' do all that."

The mercenary re-sheathed his knife while Jack was speaking. Crossing his arms, he added, "Sides tha' there'll be fewer of us once _Interceptor_ starts shooting."

"Aye," Jack said, looking disgusted to be agreeing with the Irishman. "Once your ol' friend Norry's turned us into toothpicks, we won't need t' worry about the anchor or the pumps."

"Finished?" Prescott asked in the patronizing voice of a parent who is wondering if his children are through with their petty bickering. Callaghan smiled, amused by the former Navy Captain's imperturbability. Jack sighed, putting his hands on his hips, as though he had a lot more to say on the subject of Prescott's plan, but didn't have the will to continue. "Putting the ship aground may seem a fool's action," Prescott started. Jack made a noise indicating that he thought that was quite an understatement. "But," he went on, cutting off any further response from the pirate. "I have known James Norrington since we were boys. He is a decent and honorable man … firing on a crippled ship would make him sick to his stomach."

"You're sayin' that 'e won't shoot at us at all?" Callaghan clarified.

"No."

"You're sure?" Ana couldn't resist joining in the conversation, despite her big brother's irritated stare. Her life was on the line, as well.

Holding up his only remaining hand in a placating gesture, Prescott began to explain. "It's like I said, Annie. James doesn't want to _kill_ us. He wants to _fight_ us." Ana did remember her brother saying that, but she hadn't understood then and she didn't understand now.

"Forgive me," Jack drolled, "but I fail t' see the difference."

"More than that," Prescott continued. "He wants the people in Kingston, the people at Admiralty to know that he fought us." Prescott paused, seeming to let what he said sink in. "Norrington doesn't want to bring back Callaghan's mutilated corpse and tell the people _This was the man who murdered your Admiral_," Prescott said. The Irishman shifted his weight, obviously affected by the words _mutilated corpse_. Prescott went on, paying little attention to the mercenary's discomfort. "He wants to bring Callaghan's very living self back to Kingston aboard the restored _HMS Loyalty_. He wants the charges read aloud in the town square while the hangman places the rope around Callaghan's neck. James wants him to cower in fear as every man jack in the square calls for Irish blood. He wants the good men at Admiralty to nod their satisfaction as the criminal's neck snaps and his body ceases its struggle. Then, he wants those very same men to be assured that the only sound choice for the new Admiral is the man who avenged the old one."

"James wouldn't do all that just for the sake of promotion," Ana disagreed. "You were just saying how honorable he was."

"Honorable, but not without ambition. You'd be surprised what a man in the Navy will do for a promotion," Prescott said, casting a meaningful glance to Jack, who'd once been left for dead by a man who wanted to be a Post Captain bad enough to kill to get there.

Prescott was right, as he had so often been in the past. Ana knew her brother was right, even before he explained himself, using her dearly departed husband's treachery as proof positive. James was one of her dearest and oldest friends. He was a fine, upstanding gentleman, but to say that he was without fault was absurd. James may not like himself for it, but he would use this catastrophic voyage to his advantage. If he could garner a promotion by taking Prescott's ship back to the Navy and sentencing two men he didn't even like to death, he would.

Jack sighed, uncrossing his arms. He probably did not need Prescott to remind him of the lengths a man would go to for professional advancement. Resigning himself to the fact that Prescott knew James better than any of them, he bowed his head slightly. "Lead on, then, Scotty," he paused. "I'll 'ear your plan, even though I'd no' be sorry t' see Callaghan's neck stretched jus' a bit."

Hand on his knife, the Irishman said, "You ungrateful son of a – "

"Enough," Ana's brother broke in. "If this doesn't work, I promise I'll let the two of you kill each other."

"So what exactly are we to do, Prescott?" Ana asked, tired of nautical terms and overly complex schemes.

Her brother gazed anxiously at their fast approaching enemy. "I feel the time for explanations may have run out."

"And your plan?"

"Might be too little, too late."

88888

"Ready at your guns!" Lieutenant Gillette ordered the men. Sixteen crews, of four men each, instantly fell into place beside their respective cannons. Sixteen pieces of slow burning fuse were lit, ready to send monstrous black guns into deadly action. Norrington's ship and crew were braced for the attack, the maindeck alive with the electrical energy always present before two ships of war were about to exchange broadsides.

Back on the quarterdeck, shoulders square and chin raised, Captain James Norrington was poised for battle. Feet set wide apart, James allowed his chest to inflate ever so slightly. This was going to work. He could feel it.

"Run out," Gillette commanded. Each of sixteen eighteen-pounders thundered out from their gun ports in almost perfect unison. One man from each crew, fuse in hand, bent behind each cannon taking aim, looking for the perfect crippling shot. The shot that would take down their enemies mast and leave the mixed bag of pirates and mercenaries even more helpless than they were now.

_Interceptor_'s position was all but perfect. In a few short seconds, the gun crews would fire at _Loyalty_ and leave the former Navy vessel dismasted. With no time to cut away the rigging, _Loyalty_ would grind to a halt and sit waiting for Norrington's men to come alongside and board. The fighting may be vicious for a few minutes, but the mercenaries were outnumbered easily five to one. The battle would end, probably with surrender. Norrington would apprehend the damned Paddy that killed his Admiral, maybe he'd even get Sparrow as well.

He could rescue Annie. Willing or not, the lady was smart enough to know when the battle was lost. She would go with Norrington if only because staying with the pirates was a dead end road. Prescott, if he wasn't dead already, wouldn't last the trip home, so James would not have to hang him. Everything was finally starting to come together.

Standing at attention, his hands clasped behind his back, Norrington's new first lieutenant stood awaiting his Captain's command. James nodded, a small simple gesture that would send his enemies to their death. The lieutenant turned his attention to the guns. "Fire on my order," Gillette yelled, but the sudden sound of breaking timber cut off any further orders. "Sir?" Gillette called to James, his question plain on his face. _What in bloody hell was that?_

James furrowed his brow, looking hard at the ship he'd been pursuing. The mercenaries were running back and forth in an erratic, almost panicked, manner. A pistol fired, it's normally loud rapport almost lost among the confused shouts and other sounds of destruction coming from _Loyalty._ He heard a woman scream and watched as a man fell from high in the rigging to the deck below. "My God," Norrington whispered under his breath. "Bring in the guns!" he bellowed, then quieter to the helmsman, "Take us in to her as close as you can."

"Sir?" Gillette asked again, coming up the stairs to the quarterdeck. "We're not firing on them?"

"_Loyalty'_s aground," Norrington answered, his response explaining his order as well as the loud, unfriendly noises coming from the enemy ship. "No use sinking a perfectly useful vessel when we can take her by boarding."

TBC


	32. Lines Crossed

a/n: Thank you so very much to everyone that's still out there reading and reviewing. I'm so happy that you've stuck with me!

obligatory disclaimer: I don't own anything from PotC

**Chapter Thirty-Two: "Lines Crossed"**

As James Norrington stepped aboard the pirate ship that was once _HMS Loyalty_, only one thought preyed on his mind. _That was too easy._ His enemy had gone aground and the boarding action had been over almost before it began. Lieutenant Gillette stood awaiting his Captain on the maindeck, a satisfied grin on his face. Jack Sparrow, apparently apprehended by aforementioned lieutenant, stood surrounded by a contingent of marines. His black eyes hadn't even spotted Norrington. Instead, he was staring up at the quarterdeck.

Following the pirate's gaze, James easily picked out what amongst the clatter of activity had so grabbed Sparrow's attention. A man, a corpse most likely, lay just atop the stairs. Norrington's heart betrayed him and skipped it's beat for the split second in which he thought the body might have belonged to Prescott. His sentimental fear subsided, however, as soon as he recognized the black clothes and silver-streaked hair of the Irish mercenary who'd murdered his Admiral.

Turning to Gillette, Norrington said, "I thought I'd made it perfectly clear that the Irishman was to be taken back to Kingston for trial." And execution, he added silently.

The young officer blanched, clearly frightened to be caught in his Captain's disfavor.

"Beggin' your pardon," Jack Sparrow's thick pirate accent interrupted. He still hadn't bothered to meet Norrington's gaze, and he certainly hadn't bothered to respectfully address his captor. Instead, Sparrow's dark eyes remained fixed on the Irishman's corpse, an inappropriately light-hearted smile beginning to take shape on his face. "But, even if the fine lieutenant 'ere had managed t' arrive in time, I seriously doubt tha' he would have been able to stop the smarmy Patlander from leavin' this world for the blazin' fires of hell." The pirate's grin degenerated into an insane giggle. Pressing his hands together and bowing slightly, he said, "Apologies, if me rather decisive action causes ye any heartache."

James furrowed his brow. "You killed the Irishman?" he asked, after picking his way through Sparrow's unnecessarily wordy speech.

"Aye," Sparrow said, his one word reply accentuated by the malevolent widening of his gold-toothed grin. The crazy pirate cocked his head to one side, inviting James to ask the burning question.

"Why?" Norrington asked, not knowing why the pirate's reasons mattered, but feeling the need to ask anyway.

Something flashed across Sparrow's face, his self-satisfied smirk faltering only for a second. Then, his arms flew out to either side of his body in a drunken questioning gesture. "What makes ye think tha' I want t' sail wit the man tha' killed Admiral Delaney anymore than ye do?" The pirate shook his head, clearly disgusted by that notion. Suddenly, Sparrow straightened. Eyes, oddly clear and serious, met Norrington's stare. Black eyes that could see straight through a man. The eyes of a deadly pirate. "Capt'n Norrington," he began gesturing with his hands and started to walk away from his marine guard, as though he needed room to expound. Thankfully, the soldiers were not so distracted by the madcap pirate that they failed to restrain his impulses. Stopping abruptly as a marine grabbed his arm, Sparrow made an irritated face, but continued speaking. "Ye can't tell me tha' the bloody Royal Navy'd have been so quick t' give chase if tha' scurvy Paddy weren't aboard."

James decided to ignore the crazy pirate's astute observation. Sparrow was right, but Norrington was certainly not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing as much. "Fetch the surgeon, Gillette," he said. "Make sure the Irishman has truly expired."

"The surgeon is busy seeing to your men, Captain," the elderly physician who'd bullied his way aboard _Interceptor_ spoke up. "Unless you consider this task more important."

James shot the insolent doctor a glare that said he damned well did not appreciate being second-guessed. "Only a moment of your time is required," he said. Of course he wanted his own men tended to, but he also wanted this business with the Irishman decided. After all, if the mercenary still lived, then he'd have to hasten all and return to port to hang the brigand before he expired.

After a rudimentary examination, Dr. Brendwhite shook his head. "Dead," he declared simply, his voice carrying an odd tone. Norrington scowled, the physician could not possibly be sorry to see a heartless killer finally killed. The damned Paddy got no less than he deserved. James only wished that the mercenary's death could have been another feather in his hat to show the Admiralty brass back home.

"Captain," the newly promoted Lieutenant Gillette call from the corridor that, James knew, led to Prescott's cabin. "Tarret and the woman are in the Captain's quarters."

James nodded.

"What do we do with Sparrow?" one of the marines questioned, as Norrington started to walk away.

"Nothing … yet," he answered. "Throw the mercenary over the side." James thought he saw the pirate nod in satisfaction upon hearing his orders. Sparrow crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels, ready to enjoy the show. Norrington shook his head. In all truthfulness, he had no idea what to do with Sparrow. The obvious solution should have been to lock him in the brig, bear him back to an English port, and hand him over to be executed for his life of crime. Obvious solutions, however, were beginning to seem less and less obvious. Since seeing how affected the pirate had been by Prescott's injured state back on the island, the Navy man had felt an odd sort of kinship with his adversary. He could almost understand Sparrow. He didn't like said understanding, but he couldn't deny it. Somewhere inside, in a place not quite deep enough to ignore, James wondered if he wouldn't regret hanging the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow.

It was with these melancholy thoughts in the front of his mind, that Norrington stepped into his former superior's cabin followed closely by Dr. Brendwhite. Prescott, who in days gone by, would have been standing stolidly behind his oversized ebon wood desk studying some manner of chart, lie instead in a hammock towards the rear of the cabin. His eyes were closed and his face slack. The white-haired doctor immediately set to work examining the patient he held in such high regard. James averted his eyes, not wishing to see his one time mentor in such a weakened state.

Prescott was dying, James did not need a medical education to know that. Nothing short of grievous injury could keep any Captain from his quarterdeck during battle, and Prescott Tarret was not any Captain. He was, in fact, so celebrated a Captain because he'd never ask his men to perform any action that he himself wouldn't do. In the worst gales, Prescott had been known to go aloft with the men furling the sails. He'd be at the head of any boarding action and the first to set foot on hostile soil. When their ship was at stake, only injury would keep a Captain from fighting for her. When _Loyalty_ was at stake, only death could bind Captain Tarret to his hammock.

So, rather than dwell on matters already decided, James turned to matters far more uncertain. Annie was out on the balcony, still wearing the borrowed midshipman's uniform. Her back was turned. She was staring at the island they'd just left, idly fidgeting with a length of rope.

Coughing quietly to announce his presence, James stepped onto the balcony. Only seconds ago he'd been puzzling over feelings of kinship with a pirate. Now, he couldn't find the worlds to speak to a woman he'd known since she was a little girl. He couldn't imagine what this must be like for her. Annie knew her big brother better than most. If Norrington had such a strong sense of Prescott's imminent demise, than how much more disheartened must Annie be? Could words possibly shed any relief on a woman who's brother was all but gone. Before he could come up with anything, the physician was at his elbow. "Yes?"

Dr. Brendwhite motioned for Norrington to lean in close. Whispering too soft for the lady to hear, he said sadly, "It'd be a miracle if Captain Tarret lives through the voyage home."

James let his eyes fall shut as the doctor excused himself. He'd known what Brendwhite would say, but hearing the words only made the sadness more real. If James did not know what to say to Annie before, he certainly did not know what to say now. What words could one offer to a woman whose whole family was gone? Mother. Father. Brother. Husband. And now, Prescott, the only relation she had left in this world was only days away from leaving her.

"Annie," he started, finding his throat uncommonly dry.

"You don't have to say anything, James," the lady said, her voice dull and without emotion. "He isn't going to make it. There isn't anything you can say to change that." She wasn't crying. Her lip didn't quiver and her voice didn't tremble. Anamaria was eerily calm, resolved. Prescott was dying, and the lady knew that she couldn't do a damned thing about it.

James desperately wanted to say something strong or reassuring. He wanted to make Prescott's loss easier for Annie, no matter the impossibility of that task. Fortunately or not, Lieutenant Gillette arrived before Norrington got the chance to come up with his meaningful speech. "What shall we do with Tarret, Sir," he asked, either unaware of or ignoring the fact that Annie was in the room.

Prescott's fiery sister, however, did not let the insult go unanswered. "Touch him, and I'll slit your throat," she hissed. Annie did not draw a knife, nor did she train a pistol on Gillette's heart. She didn't move at all, but the lieutenant paled visibly, apparently believing the lady's threat. He was not, apparently, as stupid as he seemed for letting slip such an insensitive utterance.

"Captain Tarret will remain in his cabin," James answered, thinking Gillette was smart to back down from a confrontation with Anamaria. Let the men think him sentimental, James had no intention of robbing his mentor of one last voyage aboard the ship he loved. "You can, of course, stay with him, Annie," Norrington added, after Gillette left.

A thin smile of gratitude passed quickly over Annie's dark skinned face. "I'd get to the brig if I were you, James," she said. "Your lieutenant, Billings I believe his name is, was none too found of being detained. Callaghan locked him up down there to keep him out of the way."

"Callaghan?"

"The Irishman who killed Shane."

Norrington pursed his lips. So the dead man had a name. At least James would be able to implicate a specific mercenary in the official report of his Admiral's death. It hardly compared with bringing the criminal, name and all, to justice in the town's square, but he supposed, it would have to do.

Staring hard at the woman who still had not turned to meet his gaze, James wished he could make the pain and the ugliness of the past few days disappear. However, he could no more do that than he could sprout majestic wings and fly away from this mess. He cleared his throat, a nervous habit he'd never really managed to break, and returned to _Loyalty_'s maindeck. At least, surrounded by his men with the sea spray in his face, he felt in control of the situation, not utterly disarmed like he felt around Annie.

"Mr. Gillette," he said as soon as he'd located his soon to be ex-first lieutenant, now that Billings had been rediscovered. "Please get to the hold and liberate Mr. Billings, would you?"

"Aye. Aye, Sir," Gillette answered, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice at his imminent demotion. Gillette was clearly an ambitious man, and, James could tell, the prospect of being first aboard _HMS Interceptor_ had been quite inviting. Norrington, himself, had once been foremost among her lieutenants. A frigate that saw as much action as _Interceptor_ afforded endless opportunity for advancement.

Crestfallen, but ever the dutiful officer, Gillette hurried to follow his Captain's command. James breathed a quiet sigh of relief, glad that Gillette was not the kind of man to let personal disappointment interfere with his professional duties.

As the lieutenant disappeared below decks, James let his eyes wander towards the ship's bow. The small band of paid killers, flanked by a dozen marines, were watching the body of their leader being unceremoniously heaved over the side. Hardened men all of them, and Irish to boot, no emotion or regret seeped out of a single face. Not one tear was shed. Instead, they watched with closely veiled eyes. No words spoken. No prayers offered or salutes fired. A short, succinct splash and the man to whom they'd pledged their allegiance, such as it was, sank to a watery grave.

"It seems you've dispatched the mercenary," Lieutenant Billings' voice came to James' ears. "I'd offer some parting words, were I not a gentleman."

Norrington smiled, remembering the reasons he preferred Billings' company to that of his other officers. Billings was a bit old for a lieutenant. If he'd been in a politician's favor, he doubtless would have made Captain several years ago. As it were, Billings had to rely on personally achievement to garner a promotion. Not to say that the lieutenant wasn't an accomplished officer, but he did not leap in front of bullets to save Admirals. Regrettably, much less was not usually noticed by the powers that be. "I'll leave you a prize crew, Mr. Billings," James said, thinking that the more times he could commend Billings by name in his report, the better for the young officer. "If you'd be so good as to bring _Loyalty_ back to Port Royal." James refrained from adding _where she belongs_, remembering that Billings like so many young officers placed Prescott Tarret up high on an unreachable pedestal, pirate or not.

"Of course, Sir."

"_Interceptor _will return with _Dauntless, _I expect, to Boothe's island to apprehend him."

The lieutenant nodded. "That could take some time," he said. "If you wish, Captain, I could also convey the mercenaries back to port. Less chance of escape, for, I assure you from personal experience, the brig is sound."

Norrington could not help but smile at the bitter note in Billing's voice. "An excellent suggestion. Besides, I've no wish to be in their company any longer than is required."

"Nor I," Billings agreed. "But, I must confess, Sir, that my selfish heart would very much like to gaze down at them from the _outside_ of the bars. God, forgive me."

Norrington chuckled softly. "I think the Almighty can grant you that small vengeance."

"What of Sparrow?" the young lieutenant asked, giving voice to the one question that James had yet to reconcile.

The Navy Captain raised his brow and cleared his throat. "I must admit," he began, engaging in a rare moment of candor with his subordinate. "Apprehending Sparrow has not been nearly as gratifying as I'd anticipated."

In place of dutiful shock, Norrington was somewhat surprised to see a hint of understanding in the lieutenant's face. Billings might actually know exactly what his Captain was feeling. "He did seem genuinely concerned for Captain Tarret," he said. "That is commendable."

"Indeed," Norrington mused.

"And, if I'm not mistaken, Sir, he did not care anymore for Callaghan and his band of thugs than we did."

James shrugged. "I am oddly compelled to allow Sparrow to remain aboard with Pre – Captain Tarret for his final days."

Billings took a breath, seeming to consider Norrington's suggestion. "If you wish, Captain, I will take charge of Sparrow as well."

"That would leave you in the midst of a great many dangers, Mr. Billings," Norrington warned, not sure if he liked the lieutenant's odds against pirates and mercenaries. However, the pirate was only one man, and the mercenaries had lost their leader.

"I assure you, Sir," Billings replied. "I've no intention of letting those Paddy killers see the light of day until we are safely docked."

The younger man's words were colored by a bitter determination that Norrington was pleased to hear. James nodded, satisfied that he was leaving an able officer in charge of the prize. "Captain Tarret's sister will also remain aboard with her brother."

"What if he expires before we make port?"

James lowered his eyes, hating the only answer his duty allowed him to give. "He is no longer a brother officer in His Majesty's Navy," he said, his tone mildly scolding. "He is to be buried as a pirate, a traitor."

"Aye. Aye, Sir."

"Luck to you, Mr. Billings."

"And to you, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

88888

Gazing back to Boothe's island, Anamaria let out a long frustrated sigh. With Jack's reappearance in her life, she had no real desire to spend any length of time with Shane Delaney, but neither had she wished any ill upon him. He had been a man of duty and ambition, not entirely moral and not always honest, but he'd done nothing to deserve such a thankless and cruel death. At least, she hoped, he had left this world quickly, without pain or suffering.

Crossing her arms, the lady scowled. Nothing about this failed venture had gone as she'd anticipated. Decent men had died, and she had just finished out and out lying to one of the best men she knew. And her dying brother, who'd risen from his hammock and was standing behind her was not someone she knew at all.

"How do you do it?" she asked.

Prescott stepped out on the balcony, leaning his back against the row of windows that flanked his cabin. He knew what Ana was asking. She did not need to clarify. "Self preservation," he said simply, his voice soft, and tired. He had known that Dr. Brendwhite would play along and tell James that Prescott was on his death bed, or hammock as the case would have it. James, in a final show of respect for his former commander, would allow Prescott to die aboard his beloved ship. Everything had happened exactly as he'd said it would. The master manipulator had simply tugged on the strings and the puppets had danced exactly how he wanted.

"But what about duty, Prescott? Honor … honesty … all of it?"

Her elder brother shrugged with his eyebrows. "A pirate has little regard for duty. As for honor, well, I've found that I'm willing to compromise my honor if it is honorable to die."

"Careful Capt'n Tarret, you're beginnin' t' sound like an Irishman," Callaghan remarked as he hauled his dripping wet carcass up from the sea, aided by the line that Ana had dropped over the side for his use. Dr. Brendwhite had also declared the decidedly breathing Irish killer dead, just as Prescott had predicted. Plan or no plan, Ana had secretly wished that Jack would slip and actually shoot the damned mercenary.

Stripping of his soaking shirt and black bandana, Callaghan stepped into the cabin looking altogether too smug for Ana's taste. His own death had been faked. Jack had only pretended to shoot the Irishman, but some men really had lost their lives throughout the course of this escapade. Obviously the Irishman could not be made to care for marines or the Admiral of the Fleet, but Callaghan had lost four of his own men when the _Interceptor_'s crew boarded. Ana would have thought he'd show a bit of remorse for the men who'd followed him into the fray. The Irishman was a paid fighter, and a killer. She had not expected him to hit his knees and cry out at the injustice, but he did not so much as say one kind word in memory of his fallen crew.

The lady crossed her arms and rolled her eyes as Callaghan stood in the doorway shaking the water from his silver streaked hair. He did not miss the gesture. "Bit frigid in 'ere," he commented dryly.

Ana did not reply. The wound on the Irishman's shoulder had re-opened and a thin trickle of blood was running down his chest, painting a deep crimson line over old tattoos and scars. _Good_, she remarked silently. She hoped the cut had filled with saltwater.

Prescott, who'd come in the cabin and sat in the navy, leather chair behind his desk, either had not heard the Irishman's comment, or had chose to ignore it. He was also ignoring his sister's frosty temperament. "How was your swim?" he asked, nonchalantly changing the subject.

"Very refreshing," Callaghan grinned. "Perfect course of action when bein' boarded by His Majesty's Navy."

"If you need dry clothes, I'm sure you can find something in Jack's cabin," Prescott said, gesturing to the wall that divided the once large Captain's quarters.

Callaghan smiled. "Generous of you, Capt'n Tarret, offerin' me the clothes off another man's back."

"Stop it, both of you," Ana demanded, her voice a menacing whisper to keep from being heard on deck. She could not fathom how her brother, a once respected Captain of His Majesty's Royal Navy could act as though everything were business as usual while standing in the presence of the man who'd murdered an Admiral. "You plan to re-take control of this ship from the prize crew that James leaves behind. Men are going to die – "

"It is a sailor's duty to die, Annie," Prescott interrupted, his patience for his baby sister clearly running thin. "For King and Country. They'll be killed by evil pirates and be remembered as heroes."

He was using his subject-closed tone of voice, but Ana was not finished. "They'll die for no reason, Pres and – "

She stopped as her brother rose, somewhat shakily from the chair, and peered down his nose at her. "If this course of action so offends your sensibilities, then get up on deck," he said pointing to the cabin door. "Stop James' leaving, and tell him exactly what I mean to do. If your conscience will rest easier sending me to the noose, then by all means, Annie."

"You know that isn't what I want."

"No?" Prescott was angry, quite a bit more angry than he was letting on. "How 'bout Callaghan, then?" he held his arm out in an asymmetrical questioning gesture. "Turn him and his men over to the Navy." The mercenary cocked an eyebrow at this suggestion, but made no further indication of worry or interest. "I'm not quite sure how we'd manage to sail the ship without the Irishmen, but maybe you've a better plan for that as well?"

Ana pursed her lips. She knew that Prescott had thought through all the angles. If there were a way to get out of this that did not involve bloodshed and loss of life, he would have found it. He was saving his skin the only way he could. "Up until now," she started quietly, trying not to sound so petulantly argumentative, "You've not crossed the line. James was your brother officer, and he can forgive you being a thorn in his side. He won't forgive you killing his men." Ana sighed, feeling hopeless, again. "This will make it much harder for you. Once James finds out what's happened. He'll not let you slip through his fingers again . . . ever."

Prescott crossed his arm, clasping his side, a gesture that was beginning to look natural, despite the missing right arm. His jaw clenched and unclenched, but he did not reply to Annie's observation.

"Live t' fight another day, lass," Callaghan answered for him. "Even if the fight's harder."

88888

Captain Norrington would very much have liked to wish Mr. Billings good chance and returned to _Interceptor_ without looking back. He, however, had to tie up all the loose ends of this wretched affair, which still included Black Charlie Boothe. The mercenary, Callaghan, was dead. Prescott Tarret was soon to follow. Norrington had not seen Boothe since . . . well, since this whole affair began, years ago at a Christmas party. The only man left who may know what happened to Boothe was Jack Sparrow.

The pirate was still on the maindeck, surrounded by an able marine guard. The beads and trinkets that normally tangled his hair were gone as was his braided beard. God only knew how he acquired the garments, but, wearing the clothes of a gentleman, Sparrow almost looked like part of the aristocracy. His expression, however, was not one of a docile, well behaved gentleman. He was standing with arms crossed and one hip cocked out to the side. His head was tilted to the opposite side, and his black eyes were watching as James approached, almost daring the Navy man to ask the burning questions.

The pirate was the strangest mix of fact and fiction that Norrington had ever encountered. Fact: the man was a criminal , wanted from Port Royal to Nassau and probably all the way back to England. Fiction: he once sailed on a black phantom ship and was capable of disappearing into thin air if threatened. He was a pirate who dwelt day after day in the world of tall tales and bedtime stories. Real and at the same time, not.

"Sparrow," James addressed the man and the myth, trying not to appear as unsettled as he felt, being trapped in the buccaneer's dark, crazed stare.

The pirate grinned. "Please, my dear Capt'n Norrington. I've never been very good at good byes."

James rolled his eyes and sighed. The pirate's eyes gleamed, bright with the insanity to which everyone credited him. Sparrow's stupid smile and wavering stance only furthered that impression, but, for the first time, Norrington allowed himself to peer deeper. He knew nothing, outside of fairytale stories, about Jack Sparrow, but he did know a great deal about Prescott Tarret. His own mentor, Prescott was no fool. Nor would he sail with one. There had to me more to this lunatic drunkard that met the eye. With this new impression forming in his mind, James chose to ignore the pirate's jest. "I've been chasing after Charles Boothe for days now and have yet to actually lay eyes on the wretch," he said, appealing to the part of Sparrow that must hate Boothe just as much as James did.

Sparrow had seemed to care for Prescott, and, as Billings had noted, that was commendable. When Norrington, and the marines had met the pirates in the woods, the fight had gone out of Tarret and he'd fallen to the ground. In that moment, James had at once seen Prescott's trembling body clinging to the mast of Boothe's ship. Despite all training to the contrary, Norrington's heart had broken as Prescott hit the sand. Annie had been stilled by shock. Sparrow, however, rushed instantly to the former Navy Captain's side. He fought to stay there, against four marines who attempted to restrain him. Norrington, inexplicably, had called off the marines. In a flash of complete understanding, James had knelt beside the pirate, who looked neither drunk, foolish or crazy. Chancing contact, James had placed his hand on Sparrow's shoulder, looked into perfectly sane eyes, and had whispered, _No further harm will come to him. He was my brother too, once._ For a fraction of a second, pirate and Navy man were of the same mind.

No matter what popular legend claimed, Jack Sparrow could not be as idiotic as he pretended to be. Whether the crazy man was all an act, or Sparrow simply had moments of clarity within the madness, James had to try to reason with the pirate's reasonable side. "Sparrow, your fate is sealed. You know that." Jack's brow rose as James told him what he knew. "You sent Callaghan to the devil, why not see to it that Boothe goes down with him?"

Foolish grin straightening somewhat, Sparrow leaned in close and spoke in the spooky voice of a storyteller. "Worry about your own fate, Captain."

No stagger. No slurring. Sparrow's threat, no matter how idle, was voiced perfectly clear. Just as clear was the pirate's unwillingness to help the man who he felt was his enemy. James squared his jaw. He could make no bargains with the pirate. He could not promise to spare his life in exchange for Boothe's whereabouts. Not that he wanted to make that bargain, anyway. He could not appeal to the pirate's sense of logic. Perhaps, he could appeal to his black heart. "I was there, Sparrow," James began, choosing carefully his words as not to betray his own emotions. "On Boothe's ship. I saw what that bastard did to Prescott." The pirate's expression did not alter, not one bit, but Norrington spoke on. "I've known Prescott since I was a boy. Do you think I like seeing a proud man reduced to this? He's a hero to his country and doesn't deserve to die like this."

Bringing his palms together and bowing slightly, Sparrow said, "Capt'n, I do appreciate your honesty. You're truly no' so bad for a bottom-feeding Navy man." He paused throwing his arms out to his sides in a sudden gesture that frightened the young marine to his left. He chuckled quietly. "Believe me," he said. "If I knew which rock Black Charlie 'ad climbed beneath, I would send ye t' the spot with all haste. Alas," he lowered his head in a pose of great sadness and regret. "I've no better idea of 'is location, than your fine self." Stopping again, Sparrow brought his hand to his chin to stroke the beard that was no longer there, appearing infinitely surprised to find it missing. "If I were t' venture a guess, I'd say ol' Charlie's hiding somewhere thanking 'is lucky stars tha' he'll not have t' cross paths with Scotty Tarret, again."

TBC


	33. The Harder Fight

Obligatory disclaimer about owning nothing from PotC.

a/n: Well, once again I've left you hanging entirely too long (humbly asks for forgiveness) Anyway, this update is, at least, good and long, and I hope some of my wonderfully faithful reviewers are still around to read it!

**Chapter 33: "The Harder Fight"**

Anamaria watched her brother sink back into the leather chair behind his desk. Prescott was hurt, and his strength was beginning to fail him. If she pushed this argument further, he might wave the white flag and let her win just to be rid of her. She could not remember the last time she'd come out ahead after fighting with her big brother. He had the most irritating habit of being level-headedly logical when she was fiery hot and emotional. She had, however, won by default a time or two, a victory that never tasted as sweet as she imagined it should.

Maybe Prescott did not always do the right thing, but Ana liked to believe that if he could he would. Anyone could see that he was only taking advantage of James and helping the Irishman because he had no other choice. She did not want him to act any differently, she simply wanted him to acknowledge how wrong this had turned out. Ana wanted her brother to say that she was right, that Shane shouldn't have been killed and that Morgan's damned ruby had not been worth any of this. She just wanted to hear Prescott say that he was acting despicably, and he did not like it anymore than she.

"Annie," Prescott began, putting his hand to his brow. "You need to get to your cabin. The fighting will start soon, and I'd prefer you safely barricaded rather than up on deck in the middle of the fray."

So, instead of backing down or continuing the argument, Prescott had decided to change the subject. Another of his most irritating habits. Pursing her lips and jutting out her chin, Ana adopted her most defiant pose. If she couldn't win argument number one, maybe she could win this one. "I stood with Shane when your _friend_ put a bullet in his skull," Ana answered, shooting Callaghan a disgusted glare. "I think I can stomach a fair fight."

"No such thing, lass," Callaghan smiled in response to her ire.

"Damn it, Irish," Prescott scolded, his voice only hushed so that the Navy men patrolling outside the door would not hear. "This conversation could have ended ages ago if you'd only learn to keep your bloody cake hole shut for more than five minutes."

Ana smiled in spite of herself. No matter how aggravated was she by Prescott, she so enjoyed seeing him pompously talking down to the mercenary. He was not exactly siding with her, but he was against Callaghan at the moment and that brought her some small degree of satisfaction.

Callaghan's brow rose. Crossing his arms, he faced the pirate and seemed, for the moment, to forget all about his little sister. "Well, Capt'n Tarret," the Irishman said. "You just don't care who you offend anymore, do you?"

Sweat had broken out across Prescott's forehead. He was in a great deal more pain than he was letting on, and he was far too weary for a confrontation with the mercenary. But, he rose quickly from his chair, without hesitation or any outward sign of difficulty. Deftly, he removed his pistol from his belt, holding it at his side pointed towards the floor but no less threatening than had he aimed the weapon between the Irishman's eyes. Standing toe to toe, glaring at the mercenary, Prescott said, "It makes no matter if the crew manning this ship is mine or yours. I'm Captain aboard this ship, and you'll have to run that ridiculous sword of yours through my heart if you want to change that."

"What makes you think I won't," Callaghan growled.

"I don't know if you will or not, but I do know that I don't bloody give a damn at this point."

The air in Prescott's cabin became suddenly thick and hard to breathe. Ana could see that the alliance between her brother and Callaghan was uneasy at best. Each was a man accustomed to giving, not taking, orders. "So, tell me, Pres," Ana interrupted the confrontation, hoping to stop it from getting out of hand at an incredibly inopportune moment. "What happens next in your plan. What's going to happen to Jack?"

"James will let him stay aboard, just like you," Prescott replied, still not backing away from the Irishman.

"Why would he do that?" Ana pressed onward.

Prescott took a long, deep breath. He knew what his sister was doing, trying to alleviate the tension, and he appeared willing to let her do it. Exhaling, he backed down, easing his ragged body back into his chair. His eyes still never left Callaghan as he placed the pistol on the desktop, leaned back in his seat and crossed his feet atop the desk. Ana almost believed his casual manner, almost believed that her brother hadn't been about to shoot the Irishman, or vice versa. "James is up on deck having a crisis of conscious, as we speak," he said, his voice once again soft, and weary. Running his hand through his hair, he continued, "He doesn't like the mess this mission has become. He needs to send Jack back to any English port and see him hang, but he also has to find Boothe. He has to sail into port with the dastardly criminal that started it all in chains. So, he'll leave Jack to Mr. Billings and the prize crew, and James will rendezvous with Sir George to apprehend Boothe." Prescott paused, finally turning to face Ana. "That way, the town will barely be over the surprise of seeing Jack Sparrow in custody and _HMS Loyalty_ restored, when Captain James Norrington arrives victorious with yet another loathsome pirate to hang. Maximum possible number of gold stars next to his name when the good men at Admiralty are looking for a new commodore to station in Port Royal."

Ana considered her brother's plan. She did not like to think of James in such stark terms, but he was a Navy man first and foremost. His career was his life, and Prescott was right. James would do anything to assure advancement. "So, then what? You told me a frigate can be sailed with twenty or thirty men, right?" Prescott nodded. "That leaves us with thirty British jailors."

"Annie, I do not doubt the salt of anyone in the Royal Navy, but my money's on Irish's crew." Callaghan crossed his arms, pleased by the compliment. "They get paid to fight because they're good at it."

More blood. More dying. Anamaria did not like the prospect, but she was through quarrelling with Prescott. She was tired and wanted this to be all over. Silently, she lifted her brother's pistol from his desk and fitted her finger to the trigger. Pointing the weapon at Callaghan, she let her eyes meet the Irishman's. "Is this loaded?" she asked, her voice dull, and just the slightest bit deadly.

Callaghan stared back at Ana, his eyes not looking at the gun but straight into hers. She heard Prescott say that the pistol was indeed loaded. Pulling back the hammer, Ana brought the weapon to bear. Nothing about the Irishman's stance changed visibly, but something in his eyes did. For the first time, he was giving Ana the same attention that he'd given Prescott moments earlier. The same attention that he'd given Jack up on deck before that. He was giving Ana the attention due anyone that voiced a threat he truly believed. He was not facing _just_ a woman. He was facing a pirate.

The thought crossed Ana's mind that the slightest twitch of her finger could send her enemy to his grave. There was undeniable power in that knowledge. If she did shoot Callaghan, Prescott's plan would once again be in utter ruins. She stood the very real possibility of Prescott shooting _her_, but the mercenary did not know that. He could only stare down the barrel of the pistol in her hands and wonder.

Ana smiled, un-cocking the weapon. "Relax, Irish," she purred, using the nickname her brother had bestowed on Callaghan. "I wouldn't dream of shooting you while you're still of use." The mercenary cocked an eyebrow, raising one side of his scarred face into a smile. "I just want to be ready to defend myself should someone break down the door to my cabin." Turning away from two appropriately shocked men, Ana went to the door. "Do be sure to announce yourself when you come to tell me that the fighting is over."

Closing the cabin door behind her, Ana exhaled long and slow. Letting her eyes fall shut, she allowed herself one thin, self-satisfied smile. Her heart had been racing and her hands were still shaking, but she had finally done it. She had acted quickly and decisively. She had not made a disaster of things. Anamaria Tarret stood her ground against a man whose profession was death. And, almost more important than that, Prescott had been impressed.

Only moments earlier Ana had been completely fed up with her big brother. She hated his plan and his cavalier attitude concerning the men who would undoubtedly have to die to realize that plan. But, still, despite being angry with him, Prescott's approval meant the world to Ana. He was the only family she had left. She had lived over half her life without a mother, her father the doctor had been mostly absent, and her husband spent most of their married life at sea. Prescott, too, lived his life aboard a ship, but he had always been the one to give her a pat on the back if he thought she deserved one. And, the master manipulator himself, was finally impressed by his baby sister.

Ana opened her eyes. Maybe Jack Sparrow wouldn't be the only one thinking that she would make a fine pirate. Nodding to herself, Ana started down the corridor towards the cabin she'd been occupying, only to come face to face with two Navy marines.

Stopping short, Ana's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. Desperately she searched for some explanation for roaming the halls of the ship, but, before she could come up with anything, a familiar voice spoke up.

"Excuse me gents," it began in a distinctly sing-song rhythm. "But, I do believe the Captain's quarters is just a wee bit further."

Ana could not help but grin as she noticed two pistols pushed up against the back of the marines' heads. "I must apologize Captain Sparrow. I seem to be blocking your path."

Using the barrel of each weapon, Jack pushed the marines bodies apart so that he could see Ana. Smiling broadly, he winked at the lady. The two guns quite apparently belonged to the marines as did the swords that were jutting out from Jack's belt, one on each hip. "No need t apologize, love. These two fine examples of inadequacy had simply tired of carrying their pistols, so I volunteered t' instruct them on some of the more effective ways of using such dangerous pieces of equipment." He bowed his head in thanks for the compliment Ana had not paid him. "I was just saying tha' the base of the skull is a fine place to rest one's pistol when it becomes too heavy. Then, if your captive becomes a bit agitated you may merely pull the trigger and their head will blow clean off. I've seen it happen."

"Have you?"

"Aye," Jack's smile faltered. "Well, no," he said. "Not actually seen it. 'Eard about it. Should work though, the principle's sound."

"True," Ana decided to join Jack's game. "But any hypothesis such as this is worth testing, don't you think, Captain?" Both marines' eyes widened, as they began to realize that the lady standing before them was no gentle damsel. Ana simply pursed her lips and stared evenly at them, daring either to voice one disparaging remark. Neither did.

"Aye, darling. At some point, yes. Definitely. However, Capt'n Lefty and tha' Irish miscreant are waitin' on yours truly and I doubt I have the time for the series of intricate test required to prove said hypothesis. Apologies. We will simply have to continue with the equipment demonstration, such as it is."

Crossing her arms, Ana leaned against the corridor wall. "Well, I was just on my way to my cabin," she purred, seductively letting her tongue run across her lips. "Perhaps when you've finished with the marines, you'd be so kind as to stop by and give me a lesson with your equipment?" One of the marines swallowed loudly, clearly catching the implications of the lady's invitation.

Jack, also knowing exactly what Ana meant, only matched her grin with one of his own. "I haven't known ye that long, love, but I've not been able to produce a piece of equipment you haven't known how to handle."

Visions of a steamy bathing room flowed in front of Ana's eyes. Visions that seemed from another lifetime rather than a few short days earlier. "I believe they say that practice makes perfect, do they not." Such a horrible time to become flirtatious, or downright forward, but Ana had seen everything change in the past few days. Besides that, propriety was lost on Jack so why even bother?

The pirate's black eyes sparkled. "I look forward to such _practice_," he said, placing naughty emphasis on the word _practice_. "Now," he began, his tone completely changed. "Eyes ahead, you bilge rats. March."

88888

Prescott watched his pistol leaving his cabin in the possession of his sweet baby sister. As she left, Annie stuck the pistol in the waistband of her borrowed midshipman's trousers.

Smiling, in spite of this horrible set of circumstances, Prescott would have to remember to raise a toast to Annie if they all managed to get out of this alive. When it had been required in Kingston society, she could perfectly act the part of an aristocratic twit of a woman, but she would never be that which she pretended. Whether he approved or not, Annie was a pirate and would never go back to the life she'd left behind.

"Well, Irish," Prescott spoke up, dismayed at the weakness in his voice. "I'm not completely sure that my sister wouldn't have shot you."

The mercenary shivered. "Me neither," he answered, and Prescott couldn't say if the shiver had been due to the fact that he was still dripping wet or because Annie had actually managed to rattle the imperturbable assassin. "I'm no' entirely sure you wouldn't 'ave let her."

"My sister's not a woman to be trifled with, even when she isn't holding a loaded pistol," Prescott said by way of an explanation. Truth be told, he probably could not have made his battered body move fast enough to stop Annie even if he had wanted. He was calling upon every ounce of will power he possessed to stay upright and nonchalant in front of the mercenary. Prescott had heard Dr. Brendwhite say that he would not survive the voyage home. The physician had been lying in an effort to expel James Norrington from Prescott's cabin, but the former officer was becoming more inclined to believe the elderly doctor's diagnosis.

"What's she going to do, when this is ended?" Callaghan asked.

Not sure why the mercenary cared, Prescott shrugged with his good shoulder. "She's not going back to Kingston, of that I'm certain."

The Irishman nodded his agreement. "Pirate ship's no place for a woman."

"No," Prescott said, managing a gruff laugh. "But, it might be just the place for Annie."

Booted footsteps in the corridor outside brought Prescott's thoughts back to the more pressing problems of the moment. Callaghan drew his sword. Prescott opened the top drawer of his desk to retrieve his spare pistol, not finding it, he settled for drawing his own sword. Heaving his protesting body out of the chair, he stood beside the mercenary. He was not sure how effective he'd be with his cutlass, but at least he would look the part of a threatening adversary. "Let's get this over with, Irish," he sighed.

The door to the cabin flew open and two marines tumbled inside followed closely by a certain pirate Captain, who had already disarmed the soldiers and now held them at gunpoint. "Gentlemen," Jack said as he shoved the marines aside and closed the cabin door behind him. "We've a ship t' retake, what're you waitin' for?"

Prescott re-sheathed his sword, thankfully managing not to miss the scabbard with his inept left hand. "Irish," he said, before the mercenary and the pirate could exchange any words between themselves. "I don't believe these fine men have seen _Loyalty_'s brig. Would you mind terribly?" Nodding, the Irishman pointed his ridiculous curved sword at the door and both incredibly dejected marines were off towards their prison cells. Callaghan and Jack held each other's stare until the mercenary was out of the cabin, reminding Prescott how much they apparently disliked one another. "Is this going to be a problem?" he asked, knowing damn well that Jack would take his meaning without further elaboration.

"I believe your Mr. Billings will very shortly be requiring assistance to hold the quarterdeck," Jack said, using twice as many words as was necessary to avoid Prescott's question. "I wouldn't want to leave 'im all by his onesy up there." Flashing an _I-know-I-didn't-answer-you smirk_, Jack disappeared into the corridor.

88888

"God's speed, Mr. Billings," Captain Norrington shouted as _Interceptor_ sprung to life and began to pull away, back towards that cursed island to hunt down the wretched excuse for a human being who was responsible for this entire fiasco of a mission.

"Thank you, Sir," Billings answered, saluting the man who would very shortly become his enemy. He watched the familiar sails unfurl and catch the wind, and he could just hear the officer in charge of weighing anchor shouting at the sailors to heave for all they were worth. _Interceptor_ was sailing away, taking with her his last chance to renounce Captain Tarret and this whole pirate plan.

And, Lieutenant Billings let them both go.

"Are we to get underway, Sir?" the young midshipman at his elbow asked, too eager to await his elder's command.

"Yes," Billings replied. "Get that mercenary rabble to man the capstan. Put our boys aloft to loose the top'sils."

"Aye. Aye, Sir," the midshipman answered eagerly. He was clearly excited by the prospect of being second in command on one of the most famous frigates to ever sail with and be stolen from the Royal Navy. Billings could hardly distinguish the mids aboard _Interceptor_. This one was most likely bottom of the food chain, but promising. Those were usually the kinds of officers Captain Norrington sent along with Billings on tasks such as this.

Not so long ago, Billings had been one of those eager young gentleman in which Captain Norrington had seen promise. Billings had not come from wealth, or even middle class, but for some reason Norrington had decided to take this young man on as one of _Interceptor_'s officers. Without any political or military contacts, Billings was not likely to ever attain the godlike rank of Post Captain, but Norrington saw to it that the young midshipman took his examination and became a commissioned lieutenant. Norrington trusted his officer, expected Billings to sail pirates and mercenaries to their death. Norrington expected Billings to remember his position and do his duty.

The officer sighed. Never in his career had he wanted to disappoint his Captain, but never before had his moral compass and his duty pointed in such total opposite directions. He hated letting Captain Norrington down, but he could not live with himself if he blindly followed orders that he believed to be wrong.

"Post a pair of sentries at the Captain's cabin. Keep those pirates on a short leash," Billings went on to order, sorry that this young officer's first mission would be a miserable failure, not the chance at distinction for which he was hoping.

"Right away, Sir."

The midshipman began hollering orders in a voice that cracked with youth, and men began rushing around to obey. It was done. Billings had split up the crew just as Captain Tarret had instructed. Callaghan's mercenaries would dispatch of the sailors who went below to supervise the capstan, without arousing the suspicion of those sailors still on deck. Sparrow, who was being led to the Captain's cabin, and Callaghan himself who was waiting therein would disarm the sentries, and then their combined force would manage the sailors left on deck, including the young midshipman beside Billings, a boy who could hardly have seen his fourteenth birthday.

Billings sighed quietly, as _Loyalty_ was prodded into action by the small prize crew. He was a traitor. A traitor to his Captain, to his King, and to his countrymen. Because of what he did today, he would never grow old and retire from the service to some small patch of land he had managed to purchase along the way. He would never enjoy the winter of his life in front of a cozy fireplace alongside of a faithful country wife. He would not spend his last days beneath warm quilts with hot whisky toddies to ease the pains of age. He would die on the bloodied deck of a pirate ship or dangling from the hempen rope.

Quite honestly, Billings had just cut his life in half, for there were scarce few old pirates. He could not say for certain that he regretted his decision, but he was beginning to be worried. What if he'd just made a grave mistake?

However, before the lieutenant could sink any further into melancholy self-examination, Callaghan's men started to emerge from below decks. Apparently, they made short work of their would-be guards. Billings was not sure why he should be surprised. Mercenaries were, after all, paid for their fighting skill. Still, such ruthless efficiency was startling. These were the men he was helping. These were the men he was allowing to take control of the ship. Billings shivered.

"Sir?" the midshipman cried out in alarm.

"To arms, Mr. Harvey," Billings said, his voice strangely calm to his own ears. "You're taken."

The battle, if it could be called such, was blessedly short. The sailors who had gone below to supervise the capstan had been taken totally by surprise. The mercenaries disarmed them and left them locked in the brig below. No doubt the shock of seeing the dead mercenary leader had done half of the work for Callaghan. Above decks, only twelve remained to fight the deadly skill and accuracy of the paid killers. One Navy man fell to his end as he tried to scramble back to the deck from aloft. Sparrow arrived above decks shortly after the mercenaries, adding an unexpectedly skilled opponent to the fray. Two more were cut down engaging in pointless heroics against Irishmen who killed without thought or pause. Sparrow wounded a few, but forced surrender instead of taking their unfortunate lives. Only one mercenary died, at the end of an all too young midshipman's cutlass. Callaghan, himself, quickly disposed of the fledgling officer, and the fight was over.

The rest of the Navy sailors were herded below to join their comrades in the brig. Irishmen manned the deck and the sails, where loyal British seamen had just stood. Mercenaries did the work to get the ship off of the reef and they were all but under way in less than an hour. The whole affair had unfolded in front of Billings' eyes and he had done nothing. He did not fight for or against the pirates. He wondered if Captain Tarret had felt this lost the first time he fought against brother officers . . . Probably not. Before he knew it, Jack Sparrow was at the wheel and _HMS Loyalty_ was once again _Pirate Ship Loyalty_, manned by the mercenary crew of a half-dead soulless killer.

"What course, Captain?" Billings asked Sparrow, not quite sure why he was ready to hold the pirate in a regard so much higher than the mercenary.

"Far from 'ere as possible," Sparrow answered.

_Interceptor_ was not even out of sight and in that short time Billings had committed high treason. Now, he stood on the quarterdeck making idle chit chat with a pirate, with a fellow pirate. "Do you think they'll find Boothe?" the former lieutenant asked, as he watched the Navy sailors making ready the shore boats.

Sparrow's eyes traveled back to the island, narrowing somewhat. "Aye," he said his voice as dark and angry as his eyes. "An' when they do, the bloody blighter'll be sorry."

Billings nodded solemnly. No more needed to be said. Captain Norrington would be disappointed at losing _Loyalty_, again. However, he would find Black Charlie Boothe, and that villain would see his neck stretched in some crowded town's square. On the surface, everything appeared to have worked out.

88888

Rocking slowly back and forth in her hammock, Anamaria made serious effort to remain calm. She had not heard many pistol shots, but the sounds of men's feet scrambling on the deck above had been unmistakable. The fight had come and gone. Either the pirates and mercenaries or the Navy had seen victory. Unfortunately, she did not know which, since no one had come to release her from her tiny cabin. At first, she thought this a very troubling sign, but, after her earlier display in Prescott's quarters, her brother may have been leaving her to wallow in anxiety simply because he was irritated.

Still, no matter what Prescott thought, she was proud of herself. She had finally faced Callaghan as an equal. She had acted the part of a pirate convincingly enough to give the paid killer pause. Ana smiled. For the first time, she'd played pirate and not managed to botch everything. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe she really could do this . . . if she wanted.

Speaking of which, Ana was more than a little disappointed that the pirate Captain had not come to find her. After meeting him in the hall with two very unhappy marines, Ana had thought sure he would rush to her little cabin and finish what she had started. What could have happened to keep him from her?

88888

Former loyal subject of the British Crown, ex-Lieutenant Billings ran the back of his hand along his sweating forehead. After what seemed like hours of back breaking labor, he and only a dozen Irish mercenaries had pried _Loyalty _off of the reef on which she'd come aground. In reality, they had made amazing time, considering their small numbers, but Billings did not know if he'd ever worked that hard in his life.

"Ah, Mr. Billings," Captain Sparrow greeted from behind _Loyalty_'s wheel. "Welcome back t' the upper decks. I see you've freed us from our bindings?"

Billings nodded, taking Sparrow's question to mean that the pirate wanted a report of the crew's progress. "She's holed, Sir," he began. "Two of the Paddy's are at the pumps, and keeping up for now. Couple more of the Irishmen are working on patching the holes below the water line. Shouldn't take them too long to figure it out."

The pirate chuckled. "Scotty might tell you never t' underestimate Irish incompetence."

Billings shook his head. He had no idea how long he would remain on _Loyalty_ with Sparrow, but he knew, as long as he lived, he would never be able to think of Sir Prescott Tarret, the youngest man to ever hold the rank of Admiral, as _Scotty_. "Still, it's not a difficult task." The pirate did not respond, he simply focused straight ahead, making minute adjustments to the wheel. "What course are we on, if I may be so bold?" Billings did not know how pirates addressed one another, but on a British man of war, one did not ask one's Captain questions about where they were headed and what they intended to do when they got there. When the Captain of a Navy ship deemed it necessary for the crew to know their mission, then and only then would he share any information, and even then only information that was absolutely vital.

"Son, I believe meself and the good Capt'n Tarret think it's about bloody time you saw the glorious haven of debauchery that is Tortuga." Sparrow grinned and bowed slightly, as though he were partly to thank for making Tortuga the most notorious, ill-reputed port in the West Indies.

Billings blinked a few times, recalling the dozens of horror stories he'd heard about the infamous town. Once in a great while, Navy ships had been forced by necessity to refit in Tortuga. The thieves in the town were so adept, most ships left with less supplies than when they arrived, and the women so professional that the crew left with more heirs than when they'd arrived. In short, the place was trouble.

"Lieutenant," Sparrow used Billings' former title. "You've gone the most peculiar shade of green. Not seasick, are you, mate?"

"No, Sir," Billings replied quickly making every effort to regain his composure. "Tortuga, it is, Sir."

88888

Shots had been fired. Precious few shots, but, from a mercenary's pistol, a few was all that was required to subdue an upstart Navy prize crew. Charles had no doubt who had risen victorious from this fight. He'd not known Callaghan long, but if any man could fight dirty enough to win, the Irishman certainly could. That man would sell out his own mother for the right price. He probably had.

Boothe smiled as he stood in the dimly lit corridors of _Loyalty_. That Paddy killer, Sparrow, Tarret and his upstart sister had almost ruined his plans. He had very nearly been caught by the Navy and sent back to a noose. But, that was not going to happen. Not now. Knocking on the cabin door in front of him, Black Charlie was ready to exact his revenge.

"It's open," came the reply.

Pushing the door open, Boothe eyed his victim. Breathtaking in a borrowed midshipman's uniform, Anamaria Tarret had always given him reason to pause. Since the first time he'd laid eyes on her, nearly a decade ago, Boothe had wanted that woman. Long ebony locks that had once been curled into dozens of ringlets, now hung straight down her back. Her borrowed clothes showcased all the womanly accoutrements she had not fully possessed years earlier. He could imagine her amber eyes and smell her intoxicating scent. Lilacs.

Charles sighed. He had wanted her instantly, but he could not have her then nor could he now.

"What took you so – " the lady turned, her voice catching in her throat as her eyes fell on Boothe instead of whomever she had been expecting. Her playful expression abruptly disappeared, replaced with loathsome disgust.

Boothe cocked his pistol. "Keep yer mouth shut," he instructed, his voice gruff. "I've no intention of shootin' ye, but I will if I have to."

TBC

I will certainly try to get the next update up much much faster. While you wait, I would love to read your feedback, so please drop me a quick review and let me know you're still out there!


	34. Trinidad

a/n: Wow, I'm taking an awfully long time to finish this, aren't I? Sorry. I certainly haven't abandoned it, and I promise to keep plugging away. I apologize for making you all wait!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from PotC.

**Chapter Thirty-Four: "Trinidad"**

Playing the part of a limp rag very convincingly, Anamaria Tarret was making damned sure that Black Charlie Boothe was having an incredibly difficult time taking her from her cabin down several flights of stairs to the ship's hold. Locking her knees and digging her heels into the deck boards beneath her feet, she was trying everything she could think of to slow his progress. At the same time, she was racking her brain trying to figure out how in the nine hells Boothe had managed to slip onto _Loyalty_ unnoticed.

Although, the task might really not have been so tough. Pretending to trip, Ana attempted to fall down the stairs, hoping to break contact with the vile pirate. Everyone aboard this ship had been bent on running away from Norrington and the Royal Navy. Boothe had been a secondary concern, at best. Maybe the beast of a man had used the confusion to his advantage. Roughly grabbing the lady's arm, Boothe prevented her escape while still allowing her to nearly fall face first down the glorified ladders that passed for stairs on a former Navy war ship.

Black Charlie had probably been hiding in the shadows the entire time, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike his blow. Ana, unfortunately, had presented the perfect opportunity. Alone in a borrowed cabin, only too happy to invite him in. Granted, she had thought the man knocking on her door had been Prescott or Jack, but still. She should know better by now, to at least take minor precautions. Elbowing her attacker in the stomach, Ana shook her head, almost admitting defeat. She was no pirate, no matter what Jack had once said. She was simply a woman on a ship, completely out of her element. She did not know what to do now, and everything she had done up to this point had been a complete debacle.

"Damn you, woman," Charles whispered, his voice hissing like a serpent. Spinning Ana around to face him and withstand the putrid stench of his breath, Boothe leaned in close. "I don't need ye t'get what I want," he snarled. "I can just as easily kill ye."

"If you kill me, Mr. Boothe," Ana began, making sure her normally refined voice sounded just a guttural and fierce. "I'll wait for you in hell, and the devil and I will spend years planning ways for you to pay for all the pain you've caused in your miserable life." And, to further punctuate her point, Ana spat in his face.

Wiping the woman's saliva from his face, Boothe said nothing. He cleared his throat, and continued to drag Ana down the corridor to the hold. The thick wooden door, complete with an iron barred window loomed just ahead. Whatever Boothe was intending to do, Ana knew it would start behind that door. Sadly, she was beginning to realize that there was very little she could do to stop him. There were no guards at the hold, for there were barely enough mercenaries to sail the ship, let alone post sentries in all the usual places. The cells were locked and this door was barred, and Prescott had been trusting in those locks to do the trick.

Throwing open the heavy door, Boothe pushed the lady into the hold. A Navy prize crew, confined in four of the six cells, all rose to their feet at the unexpected intrusion. Attempting to swallow her fear, Ana faced the sailors bravely and defiantly. She was starting to understand Boothe's scheme. These hardy sailors had been completely bamboozled by Jack and Prescott. They had been attacked, defeated and imprisoned by the Irish mercenaries who now stood in command of the ship. Ana was not quite sure what part she would play in this plan, but she could see quite clearly that Boothe was going to try to make his enemy's enemy his friend.

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"So, the water's receding an' the Irishmen are patching the holes," Jack shook his head as though he did not believe the report he was giving. "All in all, Scotty, I'd say tha' putting us aground an' deliberately damaging the ship might not 'ave been such a horrible idea." The pirate shrugged elaborately, having nothing else to add.

Prescott smiled up from where he lay in his hammock. "If that was your version of an apology for doubting me up on deck, Captain Sparrow, consider it accepted." He laughed quietly, knowing full well that Jack was not apologizing. Putting _Loyalty_ aground had been reckless and desperate. The plan had miraculously worked, but the logic, or lack thereof, behind said plan had been faulty at best. Prescott had been luckier than he cared to admit.

"I must say," Jack started, sitting on the leather chair behind Prescott's desk. "You're more resourceful than even I would 'ave imagined."

Prescott chose not to respond, not knowing if the pirate Captain meant to praise or insult him with the word _resourceful. _Ever since embarking on this ruby-seeking voyage, Prescott had been playing catch up. One incredible problem after another kept cropping up at the most inopportune moments, and the Navy man turned pirate had been constantly scrambling to fix one mess before the next could occur. He had barely managed to keep his head above water long enough to take a breath before the undercurrent drew him back down into the swirling abyss.

"I still wonder," Sparrow went on. "How does a paid assassin come to be in a British Captain's debt?"

Prescott's brow rose seeing that Jack wanted to know about their Irish ally. "Mercenaries have their uses," Prescott replied cryptically.

He owed Jack some kind of explanation. He knew that. Prescott was asking the pirate to fight alongside of a man of whom he knew nothing. Pirates and sailors in general were a notoriously suspicious bunch. Jack was certainly no exception. Prescott had trusted Jack with all sorts of confidences, but, for some reason he was hesitant to reveal the seedier side of his Naval career. Prescott had originally met Callaghan in Trinidad, in a tavern, not the most unlikely place to meet an Irishman. Prescott had been there acting as escort to an English diplomat who was conducting trade negotiations with Trinidad's governor. Callaghan had been there to kill Trinidad's governor.

"_Well, gentlemen," the newly promoted Captain Prescott Tarret backed his chair away from the table he was sharing with Captain's Wade and Seeley. "I believe I shall use some of my ill-gotten gain to buy us a bottle. Name your poison."_

"_Gin," Wade spoke up, his complexion already ruddy from the first bottle of gin he'd put down single handedly._

_Prescott nodded. He should have known. Wade, Captain of His Majesty's Royal Sloop _Arrow_ was the oldest man in this diplomatic escort. He commanded the most inconsequential ship with the rowdiest crew. _Arrow_ ran reasonably well when put to the test, but including her and her gin-soaked Captain in this mission was more of a courtesy to Wade than anything. He was washed up and a few fine gentlemen at Admiralty were just waiting to put him out to pasture. Prescott had no doubt that when the aged Captain's days finally drew to a close, the physicians would find that his blood ran as crystal clear as the liquor he favored._

_Captain Seeley caught Prescott's stare and quite obviously shared his sentiments. He smiled and shot the younger man a discreet wink. Sir Edward Seeley was the man in charge of this mission and, as such, the man saddled with the responsibility of carrying the peace-loving diplomat aboard his frigate. _HMS Mermaid _was one of a new class of frigate being developed for service in the West Indies. Navy shipbuilders were being told to focus their attentions on speed and maneuverability rather than strength and fire power. Five new frigates of this type had been sent to Kingston thus far, the others being _Nymph, Orion, Drake, _and_ Interceptor. _Their excellencies at Admiralty_ _were certain that this new breed of ship would be the weapon used to end piracy, not "cumbersome" older frigates like Prescott's _Loyalty

_Rising from the table, Prescott said, "Play the next hand without me," and headed towards the bar._

_The bartender came immediately to Prescott as he was one of only two patrons requiring service at this early hour. The other being a man with dark, silver-streaked hair sitting two stools to Prescott's left. "Gin," Captain Tarret ordered. "Cheaper the better." He almost wanted to drink some of the stuff himself, being sorely disappointed that his first mission after receiving promotion and commendations was to baby-sit some tongue wagger._

"_Losin' are ye, Capt'n?" the other patron remarked in a thick brogue. He was leafing through a tattered copy of the Naval Gazette, which must have been months old. The story on the cover was about a fairytale lieutenant who'd selflessly taken a bullet in defense of his Admiral._

_Perching on the rickety, falling apart barstool, Prescott regarded the Irishman. "Winning actually," he corrected, noticing the fresh scar running the length of the other man's face that turned one corner of his mouth into a sort of scowl. "I'd just assume not waste the coin to share a bottle with a man who can no longer tell the difference."_

_The Irishman chuckled beneath his breath, raising his own glass in a salute to Prescott's sound reasoning. His smile, made crooked by the strange scar, caused the man to look years younger than Prescott had originally guessed. He began to wonder what sort of circumstance had prematurely aged the other man. "What exactly brings three Royal Navy Captain's to this humble Spanish port?" the Irishman prodded, after emptying and refilling his glass._

_"A shifty governor and a fussy diplomat," Prescott replied evasively, not wishing to divulge any state secrets to this complete stranger. "And what brings an Irishman? Not the whisky, I'll wager, Mr. . . ?"_

_"Callaghan," the man supplied his name._

_"So what brings you here Mr. Callaghan?"_

_"Oddly enough, I'm here for the governor as well," he answered, again emptying his glass. _

_Prescott quirked an eyebrow but chose not to press the man for more information. A tight-lipped Irishman was a rare find, and Prescott was content to simply count his blessings while he waited for his gin._

_Reaching behind the bar, the Irishman snatched a second glass and filled one for himself and slid the second over to Prescott. Lifting the liquor to his lips Prescott breathed in the rich oaken scent. He was not surprised that the Irishman was drinking whisky, but he was quite surprised at the quality. Silently toasting, Prescott drained his glass. "Much obliged."_

_"Least I can do for a man who's condemned to play nursemaid for the next few days," the Irishman explained, shrugging. "Not exactly the most exciting post, I imagine."_

_"They seldom are," Prescott agreed, remembering bitterly the adventures he'd once dreamed of finding in the King's Navy. Instead, he found endless days at sea blockading some port or another, and hundreds of routine checks of merchant vessels. He'd seen battle in the ten years since he'd joined His Majesty's service. Battles too many to count. But, they had not been adventures. Struggles for survival, each one, in which he'd only found blood, injury, and death. "Seldom are," he said again._

_Callaghan smiled. "Do you really mean to tell me that life in His Majesty's Navy isn't one endless opportunity for heroics?" he paused, waiting for a response, but Prescott only rolled his eyes. "Then your Naval Gazette has led me astray," he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment as he pushed the paper aside._

_"It usually does," Prescott agreed. Citizens of the British West Indies and England alike looked to the Naval Gazette to find out how the indefatigable British sailors were doing against their French, Spanish and pirate foes. They did not look to the Gazette for the truth, however. Instead, they looked for heroes, men that could single-handedly win the great battles and keep England safe. The writers of the Gazette knew their audience, and they gave that audience exactly what it wanted. There were facts spread out amongst the tall tales and myths, just enough to deliver the news to those who knew how to find it. But, those sparse facts were so elaborately woven into such yarns that the truth was all but indistinguishable to the masses. _

_"An officer and a cynic," the Irishman observed, again filling his glass. "I think I'll drink to the paradox."_

_Prescott scoffed. "Kind of a big word for an Irishman."_

_Callaghan chuckled. "I can buckle my own bootstraps, too."_

_The bartender finally returned, producing a bottle of gin that looked to be distilled and bottled in some dingy back alleyway. Perfect. Paying the tab, the Navy man slid off the rickety barstool. "I suppose I should start losing some of my superior officer's money back to him," he said to the ebon-clad Irishman. "I hope you get your business with the governor resolved."_

_"Aye," Callaghan said. "You as well . . . and quickly."_

_Prescott did not know why his time table was any concern of the Irishman's. Shrugging, he simply returned to the card game, and did not give the man another thought. The game degenerated shortly after Prescott returned with the barely drinkable gin. Captain Wade put down the lion's share of the bottle and soon could barely distinguish the suit of his cards. Captain Seeley was too sporting to shamelessly fleece his fellow officer, and so suggested that he and Prescott go check on their friend from the diplomatic service. With as much dignity as the older man could muster, Wade agreed to see himself back to his ship and let his colleagues check on the diplomat's progress._

_"Was he always so?" Prescott could not resist asking as he and Captain Seeley followed the winding road up to the governor's mansion._

_Seeley did not answer right away. Gossiping about another Captain was quite frowned upon, but Seeley was a pragmatic man. Prescott may have been a newly promoted Post Captain, but his accomplishments would soon catapult him to the forefront of the fleet. Prescott may soon find himself in Admiralty's favor, and this was the kind of man that Seeley would rather keep as a friend than ostracize and make an enemy. "Has he always been a drunk? Yes," he replied. "Has he always teetered on the edge of incompetence? No."_

_"His crew?"_

_"Up until recently, an incredibly gifted compliment of officers quite capable of covering up their Captain's inadequacies." Seeley shrugged. "But, his first lieutenant was so good, Admiral Fornin promoted him, and his second was killed off the coast of Florida not long before. Those left to carry on simply could not shoulder the burden."_

_Prescott's brow rose. On the voyage from Kingston, Captain Wade's brigantine could barely stay in formation, let alone boast of her abilities. "And now?" he pressed?_

_"You've seen his crew. They are what they are, and it is what it is."_

_Captain Tarret had every intention of pushing the subject further, for he wanted to know everything about the men he sailed with, but an eerie commotion around the governor's house stopped the questions on his lips. Or, rather it was the lack of commotion around the mansion that so captured Prescott's attention. Normally, the huge iron gate was a hubbub of activity. Various diplomats, soldiers and civilians milled around the gates in hopes of having their petitions heard and answered. Now, however it was closed and only a few of the governor's personal guards stood on the inside. Not only was the gate closed, but chained and padlocked. The governor's guards in their audaciously bright uniforms stood huddled together beside a man in civilian clothes. The civilian was quite clearly in charge, issuing orders in hushed tones. Outside the gate, a pair of Spanish soldiers arrived, and they stood near enough to the bars to also listen to the secret conversation._

_Prescott and Seeley both halted their advance at almost the same moment. Something was quite obviously amiss. A few scattered citizens began to wander closer to the gates and a small boy ran up and pressed his face against the bars in an effort to hear what was being said. Prescott completely understood his curiosity. _

_"There's Cooper," Seeley said, spotting the missing diplomat as he ran full speed towards them._

_"He's dead!" Cooper cried, bringing his trembling hands to his face. Seeley instantly hushed the man. "The governor's dead," Cooper said again, this time quieter. He couldn't seem to stop shaking, his hands constantly twitching around his face as though he wanted to physically rip the knowledge from his skull. "Someone's murdered the governor."_

_Captain Seeley shot Prescott a meaningful glance. "We have to go," he said._

_"And right now, I should think," Prescott agreed, grabbing the diplomat's arm and pulling him back down the road towards the harbor._

_"Whatever for?" Cooper demanded, pulling his arm from Prescott's grasp. "If we run from this, we'll implicate ourselves. I certainly had nothing to do with this, you know," he insisted having recovered himself enough to be sufficiently offended._

_"How many other fighting vessels from warring nations to you see anchored in the harbor?" Prescott snapped, having very little patience for the beady-eyed twit of a man._

_"Captain Tarret's right," Seeley interjected, before Prescott could say what was really on his mind. "If we run we may implicate Britain, but if we stay someone may do it for us. Now, back to the _Mermaid_, if you please." He began to usher the diplomat away from the governor's house, but Prescott's attention was otherwise captured. "Captain Tarret?"_

_"Right behind you," Prescott answered absently as he moved in the other direction. "I'll be there directly." Fortunately, Captain Seeley was already moving down the thoroughfare and hadn't noticed Prescott's wandering._

_The curing house, slaughterhouse, and kitchen that served the governor's mansion were kept off grounds, outside the imposing iron gate, because the governor found the odors from the meat disagreeable. These buildings were far enough away to mask their smell, however, they were still close enough to possibly hide the man responsible for his death._

_Moving slowly, as not to draw any undue attention, Prescott snuck around the back side of the slaughterhouse. From this position, hearing the secretive conversation going on between the Spaniards was much easier. "_Deberíamos ir al puerto inmediatamente. Ningunos barcos deben marcharse_." Prescott understood little enough Spanish, but the words '_ships must not leave'_ were perilously clear. Not knowing quite why, Prescott acted on a hunch and called through the slaughterhouse door. "Irish? Are you in there?"_

_There was no verbal reply, but Prescott hadn't expected one. He'd been listening for something much quieter, and so heard the sharp intake of breath that he normally might have missed. A very small very quiet sound, but still just enough that, he chose to enter the building._

_The Irishman from the tavern was inside, much as Prescott had suspected. He, however, was holding a gun, which Prescott had not expected. The assassin was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. One leg of his black breeches was wet and shiny with blood, and the hand not holding his pistol was tightly clutching his side._

_"Lower your weapon, Callaghan," Prescott ordered. Long accustomed to giving commands and being obeyed, Prescott's voice was authoritative despite it's muted tone. "I'm not here to turn you in."_

_Blood was beginning to run between the Irishman's fingers from the wound in his side, and Prescott could see the sweat dotting his forehead. The hand holding the gun was shaking ever so slightly, but not enough for Prescott to doubt Callaghan's aim. "No?" was all the Irishman said._

_"You won't shoot me," Prescott said, his words not a question. "For the moment, you're hidden. Fire that pistol and you're a dead man."_

_Callaghan leaned his head back against the wall, apparently he agreed with Prescott. He waited only a moment longer to lower his gun hand, which seemed to bring him relief. "Why help me?" he asked, his thick brogue not yet weakened by the pain._

_Prescott smirked. "Because if I do, a very dangerous and capable man will owe me a favor." He winked, stepping forward and offering Callaghan his hand. The paid killer managed a gruff laugh seeming to completely understand Prescott's way of thinking._

Prescott shrugged, the action only serving to irritate his diminished shoulder. "So, I smuggled him out of Trinidad, and now he owes me."

Jack leaned Prescott's leather chair onto its two back legs and propped his feet up on Prescott's desk. His dark eyes had narrowed considerably during Prescott's story. "So, you're willing to place your trust in the man who killed Trinidad's governor just because he gave you his word? The word of an assassin?"

"Callaghan values money more than his word. I know that, but I can pay him well to keep his word. _He_ knows that."

Jack shook his head as though he pitied Prescott and his horrible reasoning. "Someday, it will be more profitable to kill you than save you, Scotty."

TBC

I know there wasn't a lot of action, but there will be next time. Promise!


	35. The Beginning of Revenge

a/n: I know it's taking me a lifetime to finish this story. I do apologize. Slowly but surely this is nearing its completion and I do thank everyone who's sticking with me until the end.

**Chapter Thirty-Five: "The Beginning of Revenge"**

The sea was calm. Blessedly calm, rocking _Loyalty_ and her Captain as a mother would rock her babe to sleep. He'd seemed to satisfy Jack's curiosity about Callaghan, and he could finally have some quiet. Laying in his hammock, gazing out the row of windows that flanked his cabin, Prescott could see that the sun was shining and the birds were singing. _HMS Interceptor_ and the King's Navy were sailing the opposite direction and pirate ship _Loyalty_ was bound for the rough and tumble freedom of Tortuga. It was over. His plan, though nearly foiled several times, had ultimately worked, and it was all over.

Prescott Tarret could relax during the return voyage and concentrate on nothing more than his own recovery.

At least, he should be able to relax. He wanted to relax. But, something was wrong. Prescott could feel the disquiet in his sailor's bones.

Something was wrong. This was not over.

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Lieutenant Billings was more at home on a square rigged Navy man o' war than he had ever been on land. Feeling the rise and fall of the deck beneath his feet and listening to the Caribbean breeze sweep through the sails, he could almost imagine what heaven must be like. Billings had spent the better part of eight years at sea. Joining the Navy when he was thirteen, he had served under some of the most distinguished members of the Royal Navy, even Sir Henry Fornin, Admiral in the West Indies. Those things that experience had not taught him, he had learned from the best. Billings was in command on a quarterdeck. He knew his duties, what was expected of him and what he could expect from his crew.

That feeling, that confidence he'd spent eight years earning, was gone.

Standing beside the notorious pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow, aboard a vessel that had been stolen from the King's Navy, Billings may have well been a sniveling midshipman. He did not know his place. He did not even know if he should be on the quarterdeck alongside of Sparrow. He simply stood there because he had no idea where else to go. He certainly did not know what was expected of him. He was not sure if pirate crews even recognized the authority of officers.

Not that it much mattered, since he was not sailing with a pirate crew. He was sailing with one pirate Captain, one former Rear Admiral, an assassin, a woman, and a band of paid fighters. Most of the time he assumed Captains Sparrow or Tarret held command, but sometimes the Irishman gave orders, and even Tarret's sister seemed to be in charge once and a while.

As far as what could be expected from his crew, well, they were not sailors. Those men were mercenaries. For enough gold, they would fight a war they did not believe in, but they could not take in a reef. They had to be instructed to climb to the proper yardarm, then pull on the proper lines to roll up the giant canvas sails. This they could manage, and were more than happy to do so. However, could they scale the rope ladders while an enemy vessel was coming alongside and opening her ports … Billings had his doubts.

Shaking his head, the former Navy man let escape a defeated sigh. The foolishly idealistic young lieutenant had walked away from everything he'd ever known. On a small bit of sand in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, Billings had come face to face with a god among men. For as long as he could remember, he had wanted to serve under Sir Prescott Tarret. Every young officer in the Navy coveted that assignment. Sir Prescott had been the kind of Captain who's lieutenants were looked upon with favor. If Tarret sang an officer's praises, then the good men at Admiralty listened.

The men at Admiralty still listened for Sir Prescott Tarret. Over two years ago, on the very day he'd been promoted to Rear Admiral in the West Indies, he had vanished completely without any trace. Since then, no single thread of news had been more sought after then some sign of the missing hero of the Crown. The proper citizenry of Kingston liked nothing more than to speculate on what had become of the fabled Captain. His wife had left Jamaica as well, so most of the rumors hinted at some secret love affair. On the night in question, a pirate also fled custody, so the rest of the rumors sadly revolved upon Tarret's heroic death at the end of a brigand's blade. Those were the popular tales, but nothing was too outlandish to be considered. Was he really a spy for France or Spain, finally called back to his home port? Or, had he been in league with the pirate, stealing away from Kingston to plunder away until the end of his days? Billings laughed under his breath, if only those few creative storytellers had known how close to the truth they had been.

The stories, no matter how close they'd been, were no more than stories. Fiction. Prescott Tarret was only a man. Just sailing aboard the same ship with Tarret, did not set all of Billings' troubles to rest. Quite the opposite. Captain Tarret was, in actuality, a man with only one arm who was in danger of not surviving the voyage home. And former Lieutenant Billings had walked away from his whole life to follow that man. Stupid naïve fool.

Chancing a glance at the pirate standing next to him, Billings wondered again if he hadn't made the worst mistake of his life in helping Tarret escape custody. All his days, he'd heard dreadful accounts of pirates and their wickedness. Yet, here he stood, beside a pirate. Fighting on the same side as a pirate.

Jack Sparrow was the embodiment of all the best pirate villains. Standing behind the wheel, squinting into the sun, the pirate was watching every single thing happening on the deck of the ship. He shouted out instructions a split second before the mercenary crew asked questions. He rebuked the men while they were still contemplating disobeying the rules. He guided _Loyalty _through the waves effortlessly. Billings had no doubt that Jack Sparrow was the hawk-eyed, swashbuckling, quick-witted rogue straight out of bedtime stories.

But, the buccaneer in those stories was always the villain. No amount of fighting prowess or fancy talk could ever save the villain. He was doomed from the start. And his whole crew was doomed to go down with him.

Billings shook his head again. Stupid bloody fool.

"Mr. Billings," Jack Sparrow's slurred, yet commanding voice called his name.

"Sir?" the lieutenant responded, paying the pirate the respect due a Captain. He could not say for sure if he actually respected the man or not, but he simply did not know how else to act. Sparrow was the man in charge, deserving or not. To insult him would be a mistake, and Billings was quite through with making mistakes. He could have, very feasibly, ruined his whole life with the mistakes he'd made up until this point and so, had absolutely no intention of being killed for insolence aboard a pirate ship.

"I'm going below," Sparrow announced. "Take the wheel." The pirate let go of the wooden ship's wheel and began to walk away without waiting to see if the former Navy man was following orders. Sparrow's attention was clearly elsewhere. This veteran sailor who had moments earlier seemed a part of the deck he stood on was distracted.

Slightly worried by what might be troubling the pirate, Billings did as he was bade. Even though he'd never actually been behind the wheel of a ship, he knew the principles and assumed he was fit to the task.

Heading towards the stairs, Sparrow called over his shoulder, "Tortuga's that way." He pointed in a westerly direction. "Don't get lost."

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In the Royal Navy there existed certain customs that had been in practice for so long that they had become more like laws that, if disobeyed, could command a considerable berating from one's superior officer. One such custom was announcing oneself with a knock and awaiting an invitation to enter the Captain's quarters. The only man aboard a Navy man of war who was exempt from this rule was the Captain's steward, who could generally come and go as he pleased. Also, the commander of a ship would occasionally dismiss the oversight, if a man was compelled by some urgency above decks, such as the approach of an enemy vessel.

It was because of years following these rules that Prescott Tarret knew something was amiss long before Jack actually said the words. In fact, the very second the pirate opened the door, without a herald of any sort, Prescott's stomach tied itself into a complicated series of constricting knots.

Exhaling, Prescott opened his eyes without greeting Jack. He almost did not want to hear the problem, whatever magnitude. He was tired. Nearly ever corner of his body was in pain. He wanted to sleep and wake up again, far away from pirates, mercenaries, and, of course, the Navy. Most of all, he wanted to sleep without dreaming. Without remembering.

"She's gone."

Of course she was. She was somehow predisposed to be a pain in his – to be a bother. Why would this be any different. Prescott's dear sweet baby sister had the most honorable intentions, better than his own, most of the time. Annie was always thinking of ways to help the people she loved. Trouble was, she was never thinking far enough ahead, never looking before the proverbial leap.

Prescott sighed. "Boothe has her."

Jack's response was far too _colorful_ to repeat, but the gist was: "What do you mean, Boothe has her? Where?"

After a short struggle, Prescott managed a sitting position in his hammock. Rubbing his forehead, he shrugged. "The hold, the brig, the cable tier or any one of a half-dozen other places we don't have enough men to patrol." Finally, he met the pirate's black stare. Jack was still in possession of two stolen Navy swords and two stolen Navy pistols. He looked quite ready to take on the whole of James Norrington's crew single handedly.

"How is it tha' you knew Boothe was aboard?"

"I didn't." Prescott shook his head. "It just makes sense. He wants that ruby, and he doesn't want the Navy to catch him. But, what he really wants is revenge." He paused, memories of his time as Boothe's prisoner choking off his voice. Closing his eyes, he sighed. "I just know he wouldn't give up."

Jack nodded, seemingly understanding their adversary's motivation. "Then, neither will we."

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Jack Sparrow had gone below, leaving Lieutenant Billings alone behind the wheel of one of the most notorious frigates in or out of the King's Navy, a place he had certainly never expected to be. Of course, every officer in the Royal Navy knew how to sail a ship, the principles of rudder, wind and sails were taught from the first. But, sailing a ship for the Navy consisted of shouting a series of orders in a specific sequence at the appointed time. The actual mechanics of the action were carried out by the sailing master or his mates.

Officers on a King's ship were a breed apart from the crew. They stood apart, ate apart and slept apart. Officers gave the orders and the men did the grunt work. Lieutenant Billings could read. He was educated. He had earned his right to command.

Still, standing behind the timber wheel, polished so smooth that it glowed, Billings felt an undeniable rush of power. Every tiny movement called the great ship to action. A small twitch of his wrist and _Loyalty_ rocked beneath his feet answering his commands just like another crewman. He could easily see why Sparrow preferred to guide the ship himself, rather than delegating the task to another. The action certainly gave the illusion of being master of one's own destiny.

"Leadin' us to Tortuga, then, Lieutenant?" the Irish mercenary inquired as he ascended the stairs to the quarterdeck. His scarred face was smirking at the younger man, teasing him.

Billings nodded. Callaghan obviously knew where they were bound, but beyond that, Billings did not know what information Captains Tarret or Sparrow had shared with the Irishman. Since, he himself, didn't know much more he was content to keep silent and let the mercenary wonder. Point of fact, Billings did not even know where he stood concerning the Irishman. Which of them held the higher rank. Logically speaking, Callaghan seemed about the equivalent of the Sergeant of the Marines, in which case Lieutenant Billings would hold the superior rank. He, however, was not going to make that assumption where the volatile mercenary was concerned.

Perching on the edge of the ship's rail, Callaghan took out a sharpening stone and began to run it down the length of his curved falchion, honing the magnificent weapon. "I must confess," he began conversationally. "I've never been to Torgtuga."

"Nor have I," Billings answered, hoping he didn't sound sarcastic enough to give offense.

The Irishman laughed. "I expect you'll see quite a lot of it in the future, bein' one of the only ports still open to pirates."

Billings almost shuddered hearing himself labeled a pirate. True or not. "How do you know Sir Prescott?" he changed the subject, not particularly wanting to ponder anything in his uncertain future.

"I only had one debt in my life, Lieutenant," Callaghan answered. "And, let's just say, I didn't like owing it to him."

"That's odd," Billings heard himself comment, not knowing if lack of respect or simply fatalism was driving him to be so cavalier with the mercenary.

The Irishman cocked one eyebrow, but wordlessly continued to sharpen his sword. Billings shrugged, shifting his concentration back to the sea. He did not need to explain himself to Callaghan. Truth be told, Billings would much rather stay on Captain Tarret's side, even if this Irishman did owe him some sort of favor. Callaghan may be allied with Tarret for the moment, but how long could such an arrangement last? No matter who the mercenary stood alongside, Billings would back Tarret, for, simply put, Captain Tarret's side would be the winning side.

While _Loyalty_ still sailed for England, no enemy pirate or Spaniard or Frenchmen could call himself safe. With Tarret for the King, it was sheer folly to be against him. Now, Tarret was a pirate. He stood for no King and no Country. For years, rumors had spread through the fleet regarding Tarret's long list of sordid contacts that he could call to his aid. How much more willing would those men be to help Tarret now that the former Navy man was one of them?

"That why you left the Navy, then?" Callaghan asked suddenly, as though he were reading the younger man's mind.

"Better to be for him, than against him, I should think."

"Mr. Billings," Sparrow's voice boomed as he climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck.

"Sir," Billings responded reflexively.

"How is it tha' you can effectively guide a thirty-six gun frigate to Tortuga, a place you have never been, if you are more focused on gossiping like an old maid?" the pirate swaggered up to Billings' side, glaring down at the younger man. "Perhaps you're not t' be trusted with such things. I believe the cables in the orlop need to be hauled down properly. Follow me. Mr. Callaghan can sail the ship." Sparrow paused only a moment to exchange glances with the mercenary before turning on his heel and leading Billings belowdecks.

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Anamaria Tarret wrapped her hands around the iron bars so tightly that her knuckles were white, and her fingers were beginning to tingle. She could not believe what she was hearing. Black Charlie Boothe, a vile beast who could barely pass for a human being, was speaking to the captured British prize crew and they were actually listening to his proposal. The villain was suggesting that the Navymen join him in an effort to overthrow Prescott and Jack and take control of _Loyalty_. He was suggesting that the King's Navy ally with a wanted pirate who was on par with the bilge water in which they were standing! And the ignorant, wretched sailors weren't spitting in his face as she'd done earlier. No. They were actually listening and considering his insane plan.

She was going to scream. She could feel the sound starting to take shape in the deepest pit of her stomach.

"We've both been wronged, you and I," Charlie was saying. His speech was calm and even. He was smiling, sounding as genial as a gentleman at a garden party. Just the sound of his voice was making Ana feel ill. Boothe was speaking mostly to the eldest sailor, a man with gray, curly hair who called himself Lindsay. The grizzled sailor seemed to be in charge, despite the petty officer's jacket worn by one of the younger men. "We've nothing to lose by joining, and we've everything to gain."

Ana was definitely going to scream. Loud and long and at the top of her lungs.

Why couldn't these thick oafs see that Charlie could offer them nothing? He had no men at his back. He was alone and grasping at straws. How much she wanted to tell these men to open their eyes and see that Boothe's plan was hopeless. She wanted to, but she knew better. Sailors were superstitious, more so than most any other kind of person. A woman on a fighting ship was bad luck. A dark-skinned woman wearing a man's breeches on a fighting ship was quite likely an avatar of Satan.

They would not listen to her, not like they were listening to Black Charlie Boothe. So, she would have to scream. Ana needed to wake them up, snap them out of whatever spell Charlie was weaving. They could not possibly fall for this obvious ploy. They had to know that Boothe would cross them up the first chance he got. They had to.

Charles Boothe may have been a pirate captain, but anyone could see he was an unworthy commander. He was hardly worthy of the air he breathed. He was wider around the middle than around the chest. Even standing with shoulders squared and feet spread, he looked somewhat stooped by age. His face was red and pockmarked and the Caribbean heat was forcing beads of sweat down the sides of his cheeks. Anyone could see that this was not the man to lead the charge against two pirates like Jack and Prescott. Anyone but these twelve British seamen who happened to be Ana's only hope at the moment.

The members of the British prize crew were not likely to listen to reason, from her or anyone else, however. They had been bested and thrown into a prison cell. They did not want to weigh the odds of that happening again, they simply wanted the chance to settle the score. They wanted vengeance, and Black Charlie Boothe was offering them that vengeance.

"You 'ave everything t' gain," Lindsay said, his voice gruff. Stepping forward in his cell, he cocked his head to one side and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What're you offerin' us?"

Ana's heart leapt inside of her chest. Maybe this lot wasn't quite as thick as she had first believed. Finally, someone was asking the right questions.

"The key to tha' cell your in," an Irish voice answered Lindsay's inquiry. Callaghan stepped out like a phantom from the shadows, and a palpable silence fell over the dark hold.

"No," Ana whispered under her breath. If she could have imagined the worst possible circumstance and then multiplied that catastrophe by ten! That rotten turncoat was bloody well turning . . . again. Her brief flicker of hope went out just as quickly as it had come. Once again, Ana needed to scream.

Everything that Black Charlie wasn't, the ebon clad mercenary was. Callaghan was tall and lean, muscular and taut as a cord ready to snap. He had the face of a perfect villain, scarred and mysterious. The kind of face that could produce glares that no one argued with. No one, including the twelve damned British sailors. A knowing smile spread across the mercenary's face. He frightened people and knew it.

The mercenary's appearance had single handedly turned the tables. Whatever doubts the sailors may have had about Boothe, they could clearly see that a man like Callaghan would be capable of re-taking _Loyalty_. Instead of sweat running down the sides of his face, the Irishman's confidence leaked out through his pores and filled the hold. He did not have to reason with the prize crew. He simply stood and waited for them to come around. Everything about Callaghan indicated that he did not need the Navy seamen to achieve victory, which, of course, only made the Englishmen want to join him.

The younger man in the sailor's cell, finally rose from where he had remained seated on the wet deck boards. "If you 'ave this key," he said, finally growing into the officer's uniform that he wore and taking charge of the situation. "Then, you also 'ave your army." He gestured to his men, rag tag though they were. Each sailor rose to stand behind their young leader, behind Black Charlie Boothe.

"I'd hurry if I were you," the Irishman suggested, his heavily accented voice, light and almost whimsical. "Sparrow knows you're here," he added, quieter.

"How?" Boothe demanded, after opening the cell for his new band of brigands.

Crossing his arms, Callaghan leaned against the bars of the cell Ana was in. "Don't know," he said, showing little concern for Boothe's suspicions. "Maybe lunatics have a sixth sense. Not that _how_ should really concern you as much as hurrying along."

Boothe stepped closer to the mercenary, no doubt trying to appear intimidating while still keeping his voice low enough so the sailors couldn't hear. "You've already switched loyalties once, what's to make me believe you won't do it again. What's to make me believe _you_ didn't tell Sparrow I was down here?"

All expression abruptly vanished from Callaghan's face, and Ana was reminded that this man was possibly more deadly than any she'd ever known. "I haven't any loyalties," he almost snarled in response, clearly angered. What wasn't clear to the eavesdropping woman, was why he was so angry. "I only have a purse that needs filling." The smile returned to his scarred face, making him look malevolently self-assured. "You and I each have a 50 stake in that ruby. On the other side, I'd have to split it three ways with Tarret and Sparrow." He paused, letting his logic sink in. "I may not be loyal, but I am good at mathematics."

Black Charlie faltered slightly. Ana rolled her eyes, how on earth could she have let such an incompetent brute get the better of her? "I have a new crew, now," he said all at once, totally changing his line of reasoning. "What makes you think I need your sorry band of Irish assassins?"

Callaghan chuckled, low and mean. "Each one o' my men has already beaten each one o' yours." He shook his head. "Boothe, please tell me you're not as bloody stupid as you look."

Obviously rattled by the Irishman's assault on his character, Black Charlie nonetheless nodded his agreement. The mercenary was plainly right.

"You black-hearted gutter rat," Ana spat as soon as Boothe had turned back to his recently recruited crewmen. "How could you?" she demanded, already seeing the answer. Callaghan could betray Jack, Prescott and her, because it really made no difference to him who's side won, as long as he got paid.

The Irishman did not reply. He simply stared at Ana inside of her cell, the ghost of a smile hovering over his face. He had just handed over the only family Ana had left, and now he had the audacity to laugh at her. The lady was disgusted and completely unable to hide her disgust. "I wonder what your dearly departed wife would do if she could see you today?" Ana hissed, making sure her words dripped with all the venom she could muster. Callaghan was a cruel killer whose heart had turned to dust, but once he was a man who had loved his wife. If one insult could get through his stone skin, it would be this one.

"I imagine she'd weep bitter tears," the mercenary replied, after only a second's hesitation. He did not seem at all perturbed by Ana's mentioning his long lost love. Nothing changed in the Irishman's visage. No shift in posture and no hitch in his voice. Not one muscle twitched. Ana arched an eyebrow. She could not see one single movement, but she knew she'd struck a chord.

"I think you're wrong," Ana said, keeping her words icily cold, almost frightening herself by the utter malice in her own voice. "I think she'd realize that you no longer deserve her tears. If you ever did."

"Rather cavalier coming from a woman behind bars." There it was. The Irishman was reverting to the tactics he knew best. The tactics Ana clearly recognized. Sarcasm and a bit of truth neatly wrapped up inside a very obvious threat.

Now, Ana chuckled, hoping to mimic the evil laughter of which the mercenary was so fond. "You're promising the destruction of the only family I have left," she said, knowing that her words were sounding perfectly nonchalant. "What exactly do you think I've left to lose?"

Callaghan's dark eyes darkened further. "Oh, I don't know. Your maidenhood, perhaps." Slightly more truth, and a healthy dose of threats.

Ana smiled. "Mr. Callaghan, I'm no more a virginal maiden than you are." The lady put her hands to her hips and raised her chin. "You cannot threaten me, and you do not scare me." She paused, fighting back the scream that was still trying to force it's way out into the world. "You said there are worse things than death, and you're right. It's worse to watch filth like you kill my family."

TBC


	36. Cable Tier

a/n: Well, I know I've been a very bad writer, by leaving this story hanging for so long. I had finished the story, but just wasn't happy with the ending and to make a long long story a bit shorter, I had to leave it alone for a while so I could go back and rework the ending till it worked better. So, I'm back on track and hopefully I won't have to shelf this one again. So, again, sorry for the extremely long wait, I hope you guys are still out there! And of course, I own nothing from PotC.

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Cable Tier**

Like an obedient puppy, Lieutenant Billings followed Jack Sparrow belowdecks. He could not believe that he was receiving disciplinary action on a ship full of criminals and miscreants. From the looks of most of Callaghan's crew, the good eggs were the ones that been to prison only once. Surrounded by paid killers and the former King's man was the one who was awaiting punishment. His Navy record would show eight years of exemplary service and now he was being berated by a pirate! Hauling down cables, no lieutenant did such menial tasks.

"Captain," Billings finally spoke up, not understanding why Sparrow was insistent on leading him to the orlop. "I know how to find the cable tier."

"So do I, Mr. Billings." The pirate descended another set of stairs to the gun deck and headed towards the foc'scle. The orlop, however, was located down yet another set of stairs. Billings sighed condescendingly. Even a pirate should know that. "Perhaps, Mr. Billings," Sparrow began, his voice a sing song whisper. "You should entertain the possibility that we are not, in fact, going to the orlop. That maybe there is nothing wrong with the cables."

"But – "

Sparrow stopped suddenly, wheeling around to face the lieutenant and firmly placing one outstretched finger in front of Billings' lips. "Not bein' a doctor I can't be absolutely certain, but I'm told tha' there exists, between your ears, a mass of tissue that should be consulted before you speak. So, if you would kindly stop sniveling and start using aforementioned mass." Billings kept quiet, and Jack turned and continued through the gun deck.

Not knowing exactly what Sparrow thought he should be pondering, Billings was content to marvel at the feline grace and agility with which the lunatic pirate moved. He was wearing knee high, leather boots, just like Billings, but for some reason each of the pirate's steps was smooth and silent. He was hardly watching where he was going. He just moved quickly and quietly through the gun deck as though he knew every inch of this ship as well as he knew the back of his own hand.

"Capt'n Tarret's sister is missing," the pirate finally spoke.

Instead of asking how a woman could possibly go missing on a ship, Billings decided to simply continue following Sparrow through the dark ship. They must be looking for Anamaria, but why the great need for secrecy? Last he'd heard, the woman had been barricaded in her cabin. Billings had no idea what would cause her to leave, but Sir Prescott's sister was never one to be called predictable. "If I may, Captain," Billings whispered. "Why would the woman wish to hide herself?"

Sparrow stopped his progression. He set his black gaze on the younger man. "She wouldn't."

The pirate had spoken in barely a whisper, but Billings heard his answer plain as day. His eyes widened. "You think something's happened?" he breathed almost afraid to say the words. "The Irishman?" he asked.

Sparrow shrugged. "Someone," he said, apparently not caring to take Billings any further into his confidence.

"If you suspect the mercenaries," Billings went on, though the pirate hadn't actually said as much. "Then, why leave their leader in charge of the quarterdeck?"

Billings thought he heard the pirate sigh. "I don't particularly trust one of those Paddies down here followin' behind me in the dark."

"But you trust me?"

"I don't _not_ trust you."

Not elaborating, Sparrow left Billings wondering if he should be proud or insulted. At least he now understood the need for quiet secrecy. Sparrow expected to sneak up on someone and hopefully catch them unawares. Bringing his hand to the hilt of his sword, Billings prepared himself for the same.

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Anamaria put her hands to her hips and raised her chin. "You cannot threaten me, and you do not scare me, Mr. Callaghan." She paused, fighting back the scream that was still trying to force it's way out into the world. "You said there are worse things than death, and you're right. It's worse to watch filth like you kill my family." Channeling all of her hate and hurt into one action, the lady spat in the mercenary's face. Stepping away from the bars, Ana held her arms out from her sides. "Do your worst you son of a whore," she snarled. "You cannot hurt me anymore."

The lady did not really know if her words were true. She suspected that the Irishman could think of hundreds of horrible ways to treat a person. He was probably perfectly capable of hurting her. But, of one thing, Anamaria was sure. She did not care.

"Where is Sparrow taking us?" Black Charlie broke in before Callaghan could respond to the lady's dare.

"Tortuga," the Irishman's brogue answered, but his gray eyes remained fixed on Ana.

Boothe shrugged. "Good as any place, I s'pose," he said. He followed the Irishman's gaze to the lady and, as usual, totally misinterpreted the situation. "Well," he said. "Finish with her as quickly as ye can. I'm off to take care o' her crippled brother." Black Charlie laughed quietly. "My men will join yours on deck," he went on. "I imagine they'll take care o' Sparrow without too much trouble."

Ana's hands fell from where she held them out at her sides. Her shoulders slumped and she only barely contained the long, hopeless sigh that desperately wanted to rush from her lungs. She watched silently as the mercenary began strapping on his various pieces of weaponry. Two long slender daggers, first, one for each hip, then the bizarre curved sword that he called a "falchion." She allowed herself a quick smile as he looped the strap of throwing knives over his shoulder and across his chest, one was still missing. The lady had regretted stabbing Callaghan when she thought that he was on their side, but now seeing the bandage soaked red on his shoulder gave her grim satisfaction. Lastly, he tucked a pistol into the sword belt at his waist. Quickly doing the addition, Ana figured the Irishman could kill over fifteen men if he only used each weapon once. She suspected his own addition would set the number much higher.

Shaking her head pitifully, Ana realized that the mercenary did not have to kill fifteen men. He only had to kill three. Jack, Prescott and the unfortunate Lieutenant Billings were all that stood between Boothe and Callaghan taking control of the ship. She hoped he would kill her too, but she assumed Boothe would rather keep her alive. Shuddering at the thought, Ana tried one last time to reason with the paid killer. "So, where does an Irishman find a sword like that?" she asked, knowing full well that Callaghan would see through her flimsy attempt at nonchalance. Only moments ago she'd been physically shaking with rage and now she was making idle chit chat? Ana hardly believed it herself.

Slowly, the Irishman's attention shifted from the weapons to the woman. She was stalling. Ana knew it and so did he. She was hoping that the time spent with Black Charlie Boothe would shake the Navy prize crew's confidence. She was hoping that the Navy sailors would see what a thick, bumbling oaf Boothe truly was. Callaghan was the trump card. Next to him, Boothe looked like a caricature of a cunning pirate. The less time the former Navymen spent with Callaghan the better.

"Africa," he answered finally.

"Murdered the Sultan, wooed his beautiful daughter, and escaped with the spoils?"

The mercenary chuckled. "Something like that."

"How many do you suppose you'll have to kill?" Ana asked cryptically.

The Irishman stopped adjusting his weapons. His gray eyes rose to regard the lady. "To satisfy my bloodlust and melt my icy heart?" he said, somehow managing to catch her meaning exactly. She nodded, and he was silent for long moments. "I don't know," he said finally, and Anamaria's heart sank.

He didn't crack a joke. He didn't insult her or even threaten her. Those were the tactics he'd used before and the ones Ana knew how to combat. Instead, the Irishman had simply and honestly answered her question. And, to Ana's great disappointment, Callaghan honestly did not know when the killing would stop. He did lust after blood, and, apparently, there was no end in sight.

"That's it then," Ana said, more to herself than to the Irishman. She shook her head. "This isn't ending right."

"Never does," Callaghan agreed.

Ana sighed, deflated. The gnawing hopelessness taking firmly hold of her and threatening never to set her free. "What are you even doing here?" she said, quietly, not expecting any answer.

"I told you," the mercenary said, his tone hardening slightly. "I owed your brother a favor and I don't much care for owing anyone anything."

The lady regarded Callaghan carefully. He wasn't watching her any longer. Perched on the edge of the table, for there were no chairs to accompany the only piece of furniture in the brig, he was tightening the straps on the dagger sheath on his thigh. The single lantern cast shadows across his face, calling attention to the deep, ugly scar on his face. The old wound started just below his eye, running the length of his angular face. It stopped just below his mouth, turning the right side of his visage into a sort of perpetual frown. The scar was glaring and cruel, not unlike the man who's face it marred. Ana wondered if he'd sustained the injury while cheating the African King out of his fortune. She wondered in what capacity her brother had met the paid fighter. "What did he do for you?" Ana asked, suddenly very curious about Prescott's past, even as his future was so uncertain.

"Doesn't matter," the Irishman said, quickly, seemingly engrossed in what he was doing.

However, the buckles on the dagger's sheath had been fastened and refastened several times now. Ana knew exactly what the mercenary was really intent on doing. He was avoiding this one particular question. Surprisingly, he had answered all the prior inquiries. He'd been brutally honest up until now. "Suddenly being quite cagey aren't we?" Ana managed a laugh. "Worst case scenario, Boothe wins this awful game he's playing and I spend the rest of my days as his cabin wench. Best case, you discover one long lost gentlemanly bone in your body and kill me before that can happen," she paused. "Would it really be so terrible to share your prized little secret?"

Callaghan finally stopped fiddling with the dagger and met the lady's gaze. His gray eyes were almost smiling. Approaching Ana's cell, he placed his hands around the bars and Ana once again noticed the wedding cross tattooed on the underside of his forearm. "He saved my life."

"And who's going t' save you now?" Jack Sparrow's voice asked from the darkness behind the mercenary.

Callaghan pursed his lips, his eyes never leaving Anamaria's. "You are a pirate, Miss Tarret," he said, indicating that he thought Ana had deliberately lured him into the vulnerable position he was now in, with his back to the door and the pirates that had just entered. Only too happy to take the credit for the Irishman's downfall, Ana simply crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow. "Captain Sparrow," Callaghan began, his voice louder. He still made no move to turn and face his adversary, obviously thinking that Sparrow would sooner kill him than take any chances. "Aren't you supposed to be on deck supervising my traitorous crew?"

Staring over the mercenary's shoulder, Ana could see Jack holding a pistol, primed and aimed directly at Callaghan. Behind Jack, the unfortunate Mr. Billings stood with cutlass drawn. Two against one. Callaghan was good, but a pistol shot to the heart was better. "If there's one thing I've learned," Jack said, his voice deadly serious. "The best way to assure a crews' loyalty is t' visibly eject their current leader from the ship. I figure after watching your corpse permanently disappear into Davey Jones' Locker, your men will be willing t' accept new management."

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Black Charlie Boothe was almost shivering in anticipation as he approached the Captain's Quarters on His Majesty's former Ship, _Loyalty_. On the other side of those timber walls waited a man who was in desperate need of killing, a half finished job that Boothe was going to be only too happy to complete.

Captain Sir Prescott Tarret thought he had been so smart. He believed that sending Boothe to that wretched floating prison would mean and end to the vicious pirate. But, the foolish Navy man had been wrong. He had underestimated Boothe. The need to visit revenge on Tarret had been the fire that fueled Boothe's black heart, his reason for living and surviving that prison. The look on Tarret's face when he first discovered Boothe on the cliffs outside of Port Royal had almost been worth those long years of incarceration. Almost. What had been worth those hard years was binding Tarret in the hold and beating him senseless. Then, Boothe would rouse the former Navy Captain only to beat him again. What had been worth those years of waiting was finally hearing Tarret's refined, aristocratic voice ripped from his throat by the sheer brutality of the beatings.

Boothe had difficulty suppressing a gleeful laugh as he put both hands to the door and slowly, quietly stole into Tarret's cabin. All the lights had been extinguished, no doubt so the poor, pitiful Captain could rest and lick his wounds. Sleeping peacefully in his hammock, poor pathetic Prescott Tarret had no idea what was creeping up behind him. Boothe smiled into the darkness. He could smell victory. He could taste vengeance.

Quietly as he could manage, Black Charlie unsheathed his cutlass. He desperately wanted to toy with the former Navy Captain. How delicious it would be to hear those tortured screams again, to hear Tarret beg for mercy and receive none. Boothe shook his head, sadly. The wily Tarret had wriggled his way out of the noose too many times already, and Boothe would have to content himself with watching his enemy drown in a pool of his own blood.

Drawing his cutlass, Black Charlie Boothe swung the blade with all his might and plunged the blade through the canvas hammock and … thin air.

Tarret wasn't there.

Boothe took a step back from the dead hammock and felt, at the back of his neck, the cool tip of a steel blade.

"I can only imagine what horrible thoughts must be running through your insignificant brain," Tarret's voice was cold as his sword. "Let me address the first and, hopefully, obvious question. How did I know you were on my ship?" The blade slid around the side of Charlie's neck as Tarret walked around to face him. Pain followed the tip of the sword, and Boothe knew Tarret had drawn blood. Whether this was intentional or not, Booth was not certain. "I shall answer that question with a question … Did you really think I was so stupid that you could outsmart me?"

Even in the dark cabin, Boothe could see Tarret's smile. Slowly and malevolently the grin overtook the Navy man's face, transforming a handsome visage into a mask of pure, deadly evil. Boothe let his eyes travel to the place where Tarret's right arm used to be. He recognized the expression on Tarret's face, for it had been on his own only moments earlier. Tarret had won. He had achieved victory and in that victory had found his own vengeance.

Tarret cocked his head to one side and peered almost thoughtfully at his adversary. "My only quandary at this point is," Tarret began, his voice quiet and even, as though Black Charlie might really be interested in what he was saying. "If I should simply end your life as quickly and gracelessly as I can, or if I should draw out the event and force you to suffer for days to suffer, oh you know, how I suffered." The former Navy man's eyes narrowed, and Boothe saw no trace of duty or honor in those cold blue orbs. The man in front of him was a pirate, black hearted and blood thirsty as Boothe had thought himself to be. Tarret was going to kill Boothe, certain sure.

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_The strike of the lash itself did not actually draw the pain. It was after the cat had been dragged across his flesh that the agony set in. The musty air of Black Charlie's hold mingling with the fresh cuts set his back ablaze with a pain wholly unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He struggled against the ropes binding his wrists, trying hopelessly to escape this torment. He knees shook and threatened to cease supporting his ragged body. The fibers from the rope stuck in the wounds only to be wretched out with the next whip of the lash. The tears he refused to cry scorched his eyes. The blood running from his mouth where he bit down on his tongue seared his cheeks and throat, but he had managed to stay silent. The occasional grunt, and groan, were the only satisfaction he intended to give the sadistic bastard who stood calmly ordering another dozen. Each time the rope sliced into his back, he swore would be the last time he could manage to keep his voice in check, but somehow, his resolve held fast._

_Held, that is, until Black Charlie decided to dip the cat in seawater. This time, as the soaking rope bit into swollen, bleeding flesh, his voice was ripped from somewhere deep inside of himself. Saltwater seeped into every cut and scrap, igniting a pain that welled up from the very core of his being. Again and again the cat clawed at already torn skin. He cried out until his throat was parched and raw. When he was finally freed from the bindings holding his wrists, he fell, trembling to the floor. His whole body shook, violently as his blood poured out from three dozen lacerations. Rough hands and boots forced him to lie on his brutalized back. Black Charlie loomed overhead, "Looks like yer grand plan got a bit off track, don't it?" he snarled_

"On your knees," Prescott ordered, stalling for time, memory clouding his vision so that he was seeing only red rage. His anger, righteous anger, burned inside of his chest. Consuming every thought and immolating every other emotion in his heart. Boothe had made the former Navy Captain feel a sort of pain and humiliation wholly unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. Black Charlie Boothe had made Prescott afraid. Boothe had made him not fear the death that would eventually come. Instead, he had feared the days leading up to his own demise. He had actually wished that his abused body would give up and give in so that his torment would cease. Prescott had, in fact, been so afraid that he had cut off his own arm to escape. Facing life as a cripple was preferable to facing anymore time as a victim of Boothe's torture.

Still, at this juncture, with his enemy prone and helpless at his feet, Prescott found himself oddly uncertain. Would he really kill Boothe? He'd done it before, but that had been in battle, in the name of kill or be killed. The action of a man saving his own skin to live to fight another day could hardly be compared to what Prescott now faced. This was crossing a line that once crossed he would never be able to uncross. Even if he never again committed such a crime, he would be a man changed. A man changed into a murderer. A man not unlike Black Charlie Boothe.

_Prescott barely had the strength to breathe, much less speak, but, with his last ounces of defiance, he refused to give in. He called Boothe a scoundrel and a miserable failure. He used every curse he'd ever learned, and years at sea had taught him many. He damned the evil pirate to the darkest corners of hell. Boothe kicked him hard, square in the chest. Prescott's body convulsed, vainly he attempted to protect himself from further onslaught. Sneering, Boothe placed one foot on his chest, grinding Prescott's open wounds down onto the floorboards._

Were he to trade places with Boothe, there would be no pause, of that Prescott was sure. Boothe had come into his cabin, sneaking in the dark, to finish what he'd started. No doubt, he'd been disappointed that he couldn't return to his torture chamber and finish Prescott off in the most cruel and barbaric fashion he could devise. Boothe had been more than willing to take Prescott unaware, stab him literally in the back if need be. He cared not for honor or fairness.

His enemy had laid down his sword and fallen to his knees in front of Prescott. Boothe was watching, awaiting his death like a fattened hen who knew she was destined to be Christmas dinner. Righteous vengeance or not, this was murder. Not a battle. Not self-defense. Murder. Regarding Boothe, kneeling submissively at his feet, Prescott wondered if he could live with that stain upon his soul. After all, he'd already won. He had defeated his enemy. Charles Boothe was doubtless only moments away from begging Prescott to be merciful and spare his good for nothing, bottom feeding carcass. He deserved nothing better than a bloody death aboard a pirate ship, but how would Prescott's soul be judged if he passed judgment on this wretched excuse for a man?

All of a sudden, Prescott laughed, struck by the absurdity of a pirate worrying about his eternal soul.

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Every man above decks ceased their action upon seeing the Irish mercenary escorted up the stairs at gunpoint by Jack, Mr. Billings and Anamaria. She almost chuckled at the ridiculous picture they must have made. A pirate Captain who was still wearing his gentleman's disguise, a former Navy Lieutenant who was halfway in between his old life and the new, and of course the woman who was wearing a man's breeches. She could hardly guess which one of the three the crew would think was most preposterous.

"All hands," Jack bellowed, his voice easily slicing through the quiet sounds of a Caribbean breeze. He really hadn't needed to shout, since his appearance on deck had already drawn everyone's attention. The familiar command had the Navy prize crew standing at attention below the quarterdeck, and, curiosity piqued, the mercenary crew fell into place alongside. "As ye can see gentlemen," Jack began, his pirate accent thickening somewhat. "Mr. Callaghan has decided t' relegate control of this ship, your wonderful persons included, t' me an me mates." He gestured to Billings and Ana, who was trying to look as though she'd done something like this before. "So, if ye'd be so kind as t' return t' yer duties and not interfere as I heave aforementioned mercenary over the side. He's an appointment with Davy Jones an' I'd hate for 'im t' miss it."

Callaghan glared at Jack, but, to Ana's surprise, remained quiet. Perhaps he realized that challenging a volatile and seemingly deranged pirate, while he was holding a pistol, was an idea that was deranged in and of itself. Perhaps he was admitting defeat. More likely, he was buying himself some time and exchanging covert glances with his men, conveying some secret plan to overtake Jack. Ana bit her lip. She didn't really like being a pirate. Scanning the deck, the lady stared into each of the sailor's faces. They didn't seem to care one way or the other if the Irishman was killed by the pirate. Either way, they were merely pawns in someone else's power play. The mercenaries also appeared to have only a passing interest in the proceedings up on the quarterdeck, but their nonchalance was feigned. Jack wouldn't be able to simply kill Callaghan and assume command. Some bargain would have to be struck with the Irish crew before they would lift a finger for or against the pirate. It was that instant that Ana noticed what was missing . . . Boothe.

"Jack," she whispered, as she followed the pirate Captain to the side of the deck. "Where's Boothe?"

The pirate's black eyes flashed as he regarded Ana. Callaghan smiled. "She's a great deal smarter than you are Sparrow," he said.

Jack jabbed the barrel of the pistol up under the mercenary's chin. "We can find 'im without you," he snarled.

At the mention of Black Charlie Boothe's name, the Navy prize crew perked up. They had made a deal with Boothe, and he was the leader to whom they were loyal. Several of the Navymen exchanged glances and drew their cutlasses. The eldest among them, Lindsay who'd taken charge below, began to ascend the quarterdeck stairs. Boothe had promised to help him and the other British sailors. Belowdecks Callaghan had been on Boothe's side, and that made Jack their enemy. Great.

Ana sought Jack's black eyes. He was not showing any indication of fear, but how could he not be frightened. Again, he was out manned and outgunned.

"Unhand him, pirate," Lindsay said, his gruff voice giving courage to the other Navy sailors. "Unhand him or it's _you_ we're sending to the Devil."

Ana closed her eyes. She'd been momentarily hopeful, but her situation was every bit as dire as when she was locked up in the brig.

"Belay that sailor!" Prescott's commanding voice rang out from somewhere behind Lindsay. Ana's eyes shot open. Her big brother, clad in the uniform of a Navy Admiral, strode up the stairs to the quarterdeck. No weapon drawn, he simply walked by the half dozen members of the prize crew who were spread out on the quarterdeck. Coming to stand between Lindsay and Jack, Prescott glared down at the Navy sailor. "What in the name of heaven to you think you're doing, threatening one of my officers on my own quarterdeck? Good God man, do you wish to kiss the gunner's daughter?"

Lindsay took a step back, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. Quite obviously, he knew who he was facing.

Prescott did not wait for a response. "Lower your weapon," he said, his voice quiet and deadly. "Or by God I'll have you flogged."

The Navy man instantly sheathed his sword. Ana had never witnessed her brother dole out punishment before, but she had no doubt that Lindsay would not be the first man Prescott had ordered beaten. Prescott had always said how distastefully cruel a flogging could be, but sometimes it could not be avoided. Evidently, Lindsay was just as sure as Ana that Prescott's words were no hollow threat. The other Navy men also lowered their weapons taking their cues from Lindsay. Even the mercenary crew seemed somewhat unsure of how to respond to Prescott's appearance on deck, especially since he seemed unaffected by the injuries everyone aboard could plainly see.

Prescott ceased glaring at Lindsay and regarded the rest of the prize crew. "I am not in a habit of explaining my actions to my crew, but apparently you are in danger of obtusely blundering about without one." Ana smiled, knowing that her brother was purposely using a superior tone of voice and lots of big words to disarm the men listening to him. "My name is Admiral Sir Prescott Tarret," he announced, pausing as recognition dawned on the faces of the Navy men, for their were very few in the King's Service who didn't know of Sir Prescott's exploits. Ana did not know what game her brother was playing, but he was counting on that recognition for otherwise he never referred to himself as _Sir Prescott_. "I don't know what you men think you are doing here, aboard _Loyalty_, but we are endeavoring to capture one Charles Boothe and turn him over to Captain's Norrington and Williams. A task which will be more time consuming and difficult if I have to stop you from attacking my own officers."

"But, Sir," Lindsay said, finally recovering himself enough to speak. "You're dead."

Prescott sighed a superior and aristocratic sigh. "Am I indeed."

"I 'eard ye turned pirate," a second Navy man spoke up.

Managing a very convincing incredulous look, Prescott glared daggers at the man. Reaching inside his coat, he produced papers. Holding them high, he said, "Not a pirate, sailor. Privateer in the service of Britain, commissioned by His Majesty the King of England. Letters of Marque, gentlemen. Surely you've heard of them?"

"Privateer?" Lindsay breathed the word as though it were some mixture of the sacred and the obscene.

"Privateer," Prescott repeated the word in the definitive, this-subject-is-now-closed tone that he so often had used with his baby sister. Shaking his head, he put the Letters of Marque back in his jacket pocket. "Honestly, Man, what did you think? That after twenty years of faithful service to King and Country I would just all of a sudden turn pirate?" The sailor who'd voiced just that sentiment bowed his head sheepishly. The other members of the prize crew began to shake their heads and chuckle. The idea did sound preposterous, despite the fact that it was exactly what had happened. Ana smiled too, marveling at her brother. Prescott scowled quietly and pursed his lips, as though he was infinitely annoyed with his crew. "Mr …?"

"Lindsay, Sir," the older sailor answered, quickly straightening his body and knuckling his forehead in an automatic salute. Sir Prescott Tarret had won this round.

"Yes, well, Mr. Lindsay, having been in command for some time now, I may have forgotten a thing or two, but I believe a ship of war will not sail herself, will she?"

Lindsay smiled. "No, Sir, she won't. Come on you lads," he said as he turned to his comrades, beginning to issue the orders needed to keep _Loyalty_ sailing. Even Callaghan's mercenaries seemed to be taken in by Prescott's act, as they were hurrying about the maindeck, lending the British sailors a hand wherever they could.

"Mr. Billings," Prescott acknowledged the former Lieutenant. "Do keep an eye on our newest allies, will you?"

"Aye, aye, Sir."

For the first time since Prescott appeared on deck, Jack spoke up. "Privateers, now are we?" he said, not lowering the pistol from it's perch beneath Callaghan's chin. "Do you keep track of all these stories ye tell or will they all start to run together after a while?"

"You tell me, Chief Sparrow," Prescott answered wryly referring to one of the many tales Jack told about his being marooned.

"Privateers," Callaghan's sneered. "How long do you think this latest scheme will hold up?" he asked, his thick brogue somewhat stifled as Jack shoved the gun barrel up into his throat.

Prescott quirked an eyebrow. "How long do you think it takes a man to drown in the Caribbean Sea, Mr. Callaghan?" he said, totally ignoring the mercenary's comment. "It's a good deal longer than in the Atlantic. At least there the water's cold. A man will likely freeze before he drowns." Prescott drew nearer to the Irishman, lowering his voice to a menacing whisper. "It's different here where it's warm. A man can struggle for hours or days in a vain attempt to keep his head above the water. He fails though. Exhaustion and disorientation set in, and he tries to swim, but he doesn't know what direction to go. His arms and legs get tired and heavy and eventually he simply sinks down into the water, too drained to live."

Callaghan straightened.

"I've half a mind to let Captain Sparrow send you over the side and seal your fate, but … your men will be more agreeable with you still among the living."

Jack produced a gruff, disappointed scowl.

"You cannot beat me, Callaghan," Prescott went on. "You may join me or join Davy Jones."

TBC (Soon, I promise)


	37. Eye for an Eye

****a/n: As always I own nothing of PotC

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: "Eye for an Eye":**

"You cannot beat me, Callaghan," Prescott said. "You may join me or join Davy Jones." Prescott did not add anything else. He had made his point and now it was up to the Irishman, who was caught clearly between the ever present rock and its corresponding hard place. Ana could see the struggle in his steely gray eyes. The story her brother wove was a probable one. He could very well be a privateer, going about the business of England and her King. He could very well be on a mission from Admiralty to capture or destroy one Charles Boothe. Of course, he was not. He was every bit as much of an outlaw pirate as he'd ever been. Problem was, Callaghan's men didn't know that. All they knew was a band of Navy sailors had just swallowed up that very story, hook, line and sinker. And, those same Navy men who would've fought alongside of Black Charlie Boothe out of necessity would now fight alongside of Prescott Tarret with heart and soul and zeal.

Watching her brother waiting for the Irishman's decision, Ana was surprised to find that she actually believed Prescott would just as easily kill Callaghan as not. She found herself wondering if this was his new pirate nature, or if Prescott had always seen things in such varying shades of gray as opposed to the stark black and white terms in which the Navy held the world. Less and less was she surprised by the fact that he had crossed paths with a paid killer like Callaghan and had actually seen it prudent to save such a life. She wondered if there was a whole world full of off-color people that owed Prescott favors, out there somewhere just waiting for those favors to be called in.

"You know," Callaghan began, his voice somewhat muffled by the gun barrel that Jack Sparrow held below his chin. "I'm not the only one you need t' worry about."

Prescott shifted his weight and held his arm across his chest in a gesture that would have looked less strange had he still two arms. "Certainly you don't mean Boothe?"

Anamaria could not see the Irish mercenary's face, but she was sure he was grinning. Of course, he meant Boothe, for none of them knew the villain's whereabouts. "It seems your compatriots have lost track of him," Callaghan said. Jack scowled, thrusting the pistol up higher, so that the Irishman nearly had to stand on his toes to keep the gun from breaking through the soft flesh beneath his head. Ana had no doubt that Jack would much rather the mercenary choose joining Davy Jones rather than joining he and Prescott. Jack, too, saw the world in shade of gray, but Callaghan was one certain black and white. A useless evil man who deserved to die. End of story.

"Black Charlie Boothe is currently in my quarters contemplating a very specific passage from scripture," Prescott said, his voice angrier than Anamaria could ever remember hearing. Her eyes drifted to the place where Prescott's right arm used to be, reminding her of the reason for that anger. _An eye for an eye … _the words from the Bible came unbidden into her mind. She closed her eyes, trying to dispel the images of blood and gore that were bombarding her brain. Her brother had most certainly done Boothe some violence, a violence that was sure to keep him confined in Prescott's cabin. Black and white and gray. Prescott went on speaking, "He is awaiting transfer to the custody of Captain's Norrington and Williams, as I have already said, and I am not in a habit of repeating myself."

"You're really going to take him to Norrington?" Callaghan was apparently too startled to censor himself.

"Not me. I'm dead," Prescott smiled. "No, Mr. Callaghan, _you_ are going to deliver him into the hands of his enemies."

Now, it was Jack that was too startled to censor himself, for the hand holding the pistol to Callaghan's throat dropped suddenly and the pirate turned to face Prescott. "Aye?" he said, as though he were able to form no other coherent sentence. "He's what?" Jack gasped, his hands held to his hips in a posture that indicated he was impatiently awaiting Prescott's answer, and, it better be a good one.

Ana watched Callaghan, aware that he could very easily gain the upper hand since Jack had apparently lost interest in keeping the Irishman at the end of a pistol. The mercenary was covered in so many different bits of weaponry that he could kill Jack, Prescott, and her, for that matter, and seize control of the ship before their bodies hit the deck. What interested the lady was the fact that he did not.

That slow smile that Ana had grown accustomed to seeing of late, spread across her brother's face. "It's beautifully simple, Captain Sparrow," Prescott said, his voice quietly confident. "The good men at Admiralty who grant privateers' commissions do so because some problems cannot be solved within the confines of the law. Hence, it falls to privateers to do what Navy Captains cannot. Admiralty doesn't care how and, unless undue attention is brought to any specific action, they do not ask for detailed reports. It is in this capacity that many privateers and … mercenaries tend to cross paths." Prescott's icy blue eyes regarded the Irishman, waiting apparently for some understanding to dawn on his scarred face.

Jack crooked an eyebrow. "Ye just have t' say that Callaghan's working along with you and send 'im off on one of the shore boats to deliver Boothe to ol' Norrington." The pirate Captain smiled, bringing the pistol up to his own chin as if to scratch an itch. "Norrington's got 'im and Boothe, so the good Captain can go back home a hero and 'e forgets about us. Not bad, Lefty." Prescott just nodded in response, apparently not upset in the least by the new nickname Jack insisted upon using. "Not bad at all."

"When I don't return, there'll be questions," Callaghan spoke up in his own defense, but his reasons sounded hollow even to Ana's ears. He was beaten.

Prescott shrugged, wincing only slightly at the pain the motion must have caused his diminished shoulder. "Questions like that are easier to answer when we're all leagues from here dividing up the shares of Captain Morgan's ruby," he paused, lending gravity to his words. "Gold like that is hard to ignore." The Irishman remained silent. He was beaten, and he had accepted his defeat. "Captain Sparrow. Mr. Billings. Do be so good as to escort Mr. Callaghan below decks so he can prepare for his trip to _Interceptor."_

Left alone with her brother on the quarterdeck, Ana was suddenly aware of the first true feelings of relief since this dreadful voyage began. Prescott was leaning on the rail looking over the activity on his ship, watching all of the activity and none of it at the same time. "How far is this from the way you expected it to turn out?" she asked as she moved to stand beside him as he laughed softly in response to her question. The events of the past few days were so bizarre and terrible that she doubted any of it could have been foreseen. "What makes you so certain that Callaghan will take Boothe to Norrington?"

"I'm not," Prescott answered simply. "Doesn't really matter."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?"

Prescott turned to face her, half sitting on the railing. "As long as Callaghan and Boothe are off of my ship, it really makes no difference what happens to either of them. It would be best if James picked them up, for then he'd hate Jack and I slightly less. But, it's more likely that Irish will kill Boothe as soon as _Loyalty_'s out of sight and take the shore boat to the nearest piece of land he can find. It's not very likely that he'll get far enough to be picked up by someone other than James, but it's no matter to me even if he does get lucky."

"No matter?" Ana could feel her blood begin to rise. "He killed Shane."

Prescott sighed. "Annie, he's killed lots of people -"

"Shane was not _lots of people_, Prescott!" Ana snarled, hands on her hips. "He was the Admiral and a damned good man." Had she been left alone to lead a somewhat normal life, Shane would have continued courting her, and, although she could not honestly say that she would have welcomed his affections, nor would she have turned him away. In time she might have grown fond of the man and, if Jack and Prescott would have stayed away from Kingston, she might have become Mrs. Delaney. Life with an Admiral in His Majesty's Navy surely would have been a more stable existence than whatever she was involved in with a certain pirate Captain. "Callaghan killed him and that damnedable Irishman has to answer for his crimes."

Again, Prescott sighed, running his only remaining hand across his face. "Men like Callaghan do not answer for their crimes. Not in this world, at least. Men like Callaghan do what they do and only God can judge them." He shrugged half-heartedly. "I need Callaghan and Boothe off of this ship. That is all that concerns me."

With only those sparse words to explain his reasoning, Prescott turned away from Ana. Slowly and deliberately he descended the stairs to the maindeck before disappearing below. Ana swallowed angry tears. A good man had gone to his death during the course of his duty. Shane Delaney had not been without fault. He was proud and opportunistic. For King and Country he had gone out after Jack and Prescott and would have prosecuted them to the fullest extent of the law. But, hadn't he also gone out to save her life? Hadn't he faced danger and death for the woman he loved? Squaring her jaw, Ana was resolute. No matter how her big brother viewed this situation, she simply could not let the Irishman go unpunished.

88888

Wearily, Prescott Tarret once again climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck. His Navy prize crew and the Irish mercenaries had accomplished the task of once again setting _Loyalty_ on course for Tortuga. He had hoped for a longer respite in his cabin, far away from prying eyes, but alas, that was not to be. He first had to play through the farce of sending the Irishman and his prisoner off to find Norrington. In reality, both men were prisoners to whatever fate had in store. Boothe was a dead man. That was certain. Prescott had to admit though, he had no idea what would happen to Callaghan. The mercenary had doubtless seen his share of tight spots; maybe he'd live to be paid to fight another day.

Lieutenant Billings escorted Black Charlie Boothe onto the maindeck. The villain's hands were shackled in front of him. His feet were in irons, and his head was bowed. At last he was defeated. Defeated by Prescott Tarret, hopefully once and for all. Next, Callaghan strode onto the deck. He'd been relieved of his extra weaponry, per Prescott's instructions, and left with one pistol and one shot. Whether or not he decided to use that one opportunity was none of Prescott's concern. Callaghan was playacting now, pretending to be of a like mind with the former Navy man. To all intents and purposes, he looked exactly as Prescott wanted, proud and in control. He looked nothing like a man going to his death. How he looked or what he did once he was out of sight would remain to be seen. Jack Sparrow, last above decks, arrived with his hand still clutching his pistol. They had won, but the wily pirate would leave nothing to chance. He would merrily put a bullet in Callaghan's brain should he spy the first hint of trouble.

"I must say, Lefty," Jack started as he approached the quarterdeck where Prescott stood. "I half expected to get below and find Black Charlie missin' appendages."

Prescott's brow rose. "Why is that?"

"Contemplatin' scripture ye said," Jack explained, watching as Black Charlie disappeared over the side to the jolly boat waiting below. "_Eye for an eye_ came t' mind."

Letting his gaze fall to the sleeve of his uniform jacket that fluttered empty in the breeze, Prescott wondered at how close he'd come to repaying every cut and bruise. How he had wanted to make Charles Boothe bleed and cry out in pain and shame. He shuddered from the force of his own blind rage. "Came to my mind as well," he admitted, knowing that Jack fully understood the concept of revenge.

"But that obviously was not the scripture ye left ol' Charlie to contemplate?"

"_Avenge not yourselves_," Prescott quoted, meeting the pirate's black eyed stare. "_Vengeance is mine to repay, says the Lord._" So hard had it been to simply restrain Black Charlie Boothe without causing him undue bodily harm. Killing the dastardly villain Prescott could have allowed himself. To kill Boothe would have been justice. But, Prescott knew he would not be able to content himself to merely kill his tormentor. He would have gone too far, crossing a line he dare not cross, at least not yet. He would not allow himself to descend to the depths of hate for he did not know if he would be able to claw back to the surface of humanity again. Testing enough to live with the pain and humiliation he had faced at the hands of Charles Boothe. How could he have lived with the knowledge of doing those very same deeds?

Prescott exhaled a shaky breath, watching as Callaghan shot him a meaningful glare before joining Boothe in the jolly boat.

Jack shrugged in response to Prescott's explanation. "Think God may be second in line for vengeance," he said. "Think the Irishman'll get Boothe first."

88888

Standing on the deck, crowded with pirates and mercenaries, Lieutenant Billings was not exactly sure from where danger would come. Captain Sparrow had told him below to keep his eyes open. He was currently sailing with a former Admiral in His Majesty's Navy, a woman who dressed like a man, a dozen mercenaries, half a dozen members of a Navy prize crew and he was taking orders from a mad pirate. Danger was all around him and he was supposed to keep his eyes open. Good advice, considering.

"Last chance, Mr. Billings," Sir Prescott spoke up, crossing the quarterdeck with his only remaining arm held behind his back in a stance that would have looked more normal if he still had both. "You may still return to _Interceptor_ and see this whole business finished." The Admiral turned privateer stood awaiting his answer, brow raised in a questioning gesture.

"Thank you, Sir," Billings heard his own voice reply. "But, I will stay on, if you'll have me."

"If I'll have you," Sir Prescott repeated, laughing. "I'm frighteningly short on actual loyal crew members, so I'll absolutely have you!" Prescott extended his left hand, "Come aboard, Lieutenant?"

Billings clasped the former Navy man's hand, sealing the deal and sealing his fate, as it were. "Aye. Aye, Sir," he said, Captain Sparrow's return cutting off any further comment he might have made.

The flamboyant pirate approached, head slightly lowered and he appeared to be chewing on his bottom lip. "Er, Scotty," he said, his voice quiet. "We may have a problem."

Sir Prescott blinked as he regarded Captain Sparrow. "No," he said simply, disengaging the handshake with Billings and raising it as though he could physically stop whatever Sparrow was about to say. "Oh, no. All of our problems just sailed away in my jolly boat. All of our problems are on their way to be Captain Norrington's problems or His Majesty's problems or the good Lord's problems for all I care, but they have sailed away nonetheless and they are no longer _my_ problems." Sparrow opened his mouth as though he were thinking of speaking but Sir Prescott continued not giving him the time. "No no no," he said, "We are sailing for Tortuga, where my only problem will be a headache after too much ale! I am finished with problems." Sparrow closed his mouth, wearing an expression that seemed to ask if Sir Prescott was finished. The Admiral sighed. "What's the problem," he asked, his voice monotone and defeated.

"Your sister is gone …. again."

88888

This was without a doubt the worst plan she had ever devised. No. Scratch that. This could not be her worst plan, for that would imply that she actually had a plan. She did not. Anamaria had been angry at her brother, not for the first time in the last few days. She had been filled with an anger that she thought was righteous and had acted without any sort of plan whatsoever. Prescott was putting two criminals on a boat, sending them off to sea, and washing his hands of them. He did not care if justice was served or not, he was just putting his problems to sea and going on with his life as though he had no care for the outcome of this whole dreadful business. Ana had tried to reason with him, tried to tell him that Shane deserved better. Shane had deserved better, and for some inane reason Ana had decided that it was up to her to see that justice was served. She could practically see her big brother roll his eyes and shake his head at her foolishness.

Prescott hadn't cared what happened to Boothe or Callaghan, so Ana, caught up in her own wild emotions, had grabbed a pistol from his cabin and hid herself beneath a pile of extra canvas aboard the jolly boat. To do what exactly, she had no idea, but she was furious and wanted to do something. She sighed silently, trying to remain motionless, maybe shooting herself and ending this debacle would be the wisest course of action. In her head, she had envisioned leaping out from beneath the sails, brandishing a weapon and demanding that Boothe and Callaghan admit their guilt and face the hangman. Now, she realized that all that commotion would probably set the small craft to rocking and she'd most likely fall overboard and drown in shame. She had raged once when Prescott had called her a stupid, bloody woman, but now she could hear those words over and over again in her head and she found herself agreeing. What had she been thinking?

"You're not really going to sail to _Interceptor_ and hand me over to Norrington, are you?" Ana heard the sneer in Boothe's voice as he addressed Callaghan for the first time since sailing away from her brother's ship. The Irishman did not answer. "You know Norrington will just as soon hang the both of us," Boothe went on. Ana thought his voice sounded just a mite less steady. "He won't care if you're helping privateers, or not. He saw you shoot that Admiral, and he will hang you." Ana wasn't sure who Boothe was trying to convince.

She heard the Irishman laugh softly. "You're right," was all he said, before the sharp sound of a pistol rapport rattled the small boat. Covering her mouth to keep from crying out in alarm, Ana listened to the splash as, presumably, Boothe's body hit the water. Prescott had said that Callaghan would most likely kill Boothe and take his chances on the open sea, but she was still surprised to hear it actually happen. "You can come out now."

Ana froze as the Irishman spoke … to her. Slowly, she raised the canvas that she thought had hidden her from view. Pistol gripped tightly in her hand, she stood shakily and faced the mercenary. Far off to her right, she could still see _Loyalty_'s white sails against the horizon, sailing away. It was highly doubtful that anyone aboard had heard the shot, nor would they hear her scream for help, should she want to scream for help. She was alone, in a small boat with a paid killer who had in fact just killed someone. Raising the gun, she tried to steady her hands and her heart. The jolly boat had only one small sail and the tiller, she could manage it alone if she had to … couldn't she?

Callaghan stared levelly back. Setting his spent pistol on the deckboards between them, he held his hands up in a show of surrender. "One shot," he said, "That was it." He smiled, mildly. "You've nothing to fear from me, Miss Tarret."

Ana's stare drifted to the bloody water where Boothe's body was sinking to the depths. The red stain marring the crystal blue waters was as ugly as the pirate who'd fallen there. It was fitting that there would be no gravestone for such a beastly man, just a temporary mark that would soon disappear and take with it the memory of Black Charlie Boothe and all the pain he caused. Ana released the hammer and lowered the gun. Stepping out from the sails, she sat across from Callaghan. "Do you have a plan?" she asked.

"Did you?" he asked, lowering his hands and smiling wider.

"Of course," Ana lied. "I was planning to shoot you."

Callaghan's smile faltered. "And now?"

Ana shrugged. "Now, I just want all of this to be over."

TBC


	38. Epilogue

a/n: As ever, I do not own PotC.

**Epilogue:**

Tortuga looked different.

Ana had only been there once before, in another lifetime, back when she still loved a husband long dead and a certain wily pirate captain had only been a colorful memory. Still, she could not help but think that the town had changed, somewhat. It didn't look like such a rough and tumble haven for the lawless. It didn't look so foreign. She had a vague sense that she was coming home. Splashing in the shallow water, still wearing the mens boots and breeches that she had stolen from Prescott's ship, she walked to the shore while Callaghan dragged the boat up on to the beach. Her long black hair whipped in the wind and she tucked the pistol into her belt. A few times in the past, Jack had told her that she looked or acted like a pirate, she might as well embrace the fact.

"Have a plan now, do you?" Callaghan asked, once he seemed satisfied that the small craft would not float back out to the sea from whence it came.

Ana didn't really know how to answer the Irishman, not that she owed him any kind of answer. Still, a plan would be nice, whether or not she decided to share it with a mercenary. She did not think she could return to Kingston. Ana's dark skin and native mother had never really been accepted in the upper crust society of the town. Only her very heroic British Navy Captain brother had allowed her to mingle with the proper citizenry. Later, her very wealthy British Navy Captain husband had helped further, but her husband was dead and, as far as anyone knew, so was Prescott. In the past few months, she had been courted by a very well to do British Navy Admiral, but, as was becoming a morbid custom with men in Ana's life, he also was dead. So, she would go back to the fringes, to having to pretend she didn't see the sidelong glances or hear the gossiping words. She would have to go back to an empty house and start again from square one. Ana sighed deeply.

Callaghan chuckled softly, taking her sigh as an answer. "Follow me," he offered her his arm, "I'll take you somewhere so you can figure things out."

Raising her brow, Ana hesitantly took hold of the mercenary's forearm. Not really the kind of company she wanted to be keeping any longer than she had to, but aside from seeing Prescott's ship in the harbor, she had no where else to go and no one else to see. The Irishman winked and walked purposefully into the nearest tavern. Sliding into a table by the window, he motioned for one of the serving girls. "Whiskey," he said simply, when a particularly buxom redhead appeared beside the table.

The woman's eyes fell to Ana, "How 'bout you, Miss?" she asked.

"Oh," Ana was caught almost completely off guard, "I don't really need -"

"Make it two," Callaghan interrupted.

The redhead turned to leave. "No," Ana spoke up, stopping the woman's exit. "I'll have rum." The serving girl nodded and was back with two drinks in moments.

The Irishman smiled lifting his glass, "To making plans … or not," he toasted, downing his drink in one swallow, as though he'd had nothing to drink for weeks from the look of satisfaction on his face.

Ana raised her own glass, trying not to notice the fact that it probably had not been washed since the last time it had been drunk from. "To making plans that are better than the ones I've tried so far," she said. The Irishman nodded, apparently accepting her toast. Ana took a breath and tossed back the rum, mimicking Callaghan. The spicy liquid splashed in her mouth, coating and burning her throat in a slightly painful though not wholly undesirable sensation.

The mercenary held two fingers in the air, swirling them in a circular motion which called for another round. "To the plans we've tried so far," he said, "and mistakes made."

"Mistakes," Ana echoed, again raising her glass. "Mistakes made once, never to be repeated."

Setting her glass down on the tabletop slightly harder than she'd meant to, Ana watched the Irishman do the same. He once again called for another round, but this time he did not raise his glass. He sipped the amber liquid and stayed silent. Regarding the paid killer that she was fraternizing with, Ana sighed and sipped her own drink. "Do you have siblings?" she asked him suddenly.

Callaghan regarded her over the rim of his glass. Ana thought his gray eyes softened ever so slightly. "I'm Irish," he replied. "What do you think?" She smiled. "Two older sisters," he replied. "Two younger, and one younger brother."

"I have two big brothers," Ana mused. "Their mother died and their father came to Jamaica. He married my mother. Then, she died. He died. My brother, Findley, died. My husband died. My maid Sarah died. Prescott and I … we're all that's left." Ana stared into her dirty glass of rum, not meeting Callaghan's eyes. She didn't know why she told him that. Her life sounded so bleak when laid out in such simple terms. Her life. What life? There was nothing left of her life. She only had one remaining relation, her perfect big brother, a man she hardly knew anymore. For years, Prescott had been a constant in her ever changing world. He had protected her, taught her, and loved her. He'd been the one to give her away at her wedding and the one to stand beside her at the memorial service for her dearly departed husband. He'd watched over her for as long as she could remember and had even saved her life a time or two. In her eyes, Captain Sir Prescott Tarret had been the kindest, most honorable man in the world. Now, she couldn't be sure of anything, not even him. Draining the glass of the sweet, spicy liquor, Ana finally raised her eyes.

The Irishman stared back at her levelly. "Just because he isn't exactly who you thought, doesn't mean he isn't the same man he's always been," Callaghan said, somehow knowing exactly where her thoughts had wandered. "There really isn't any such thing as right and wrong," he went on. "There's only what a man can do and what he can't. Do you know who told me that?" Ana shook her head. How could she possibly know who passed such pearls of wisdom to a mercenary. He smiled a small, sad smile. "Your brother."

Ana returned his sad smile, allowing hers to widen slightly at the thought of her big brother. He had said those words to her a time or two in his life. When she accused him of being overly heroic or brave, he would always remind her that he simply did his duty and let the chips fall where they may. She had no doubt that he'd said those very same words to crewman, friends and enemies alike. She didn't know which category the Irishman fell in to, but as long as Prescott knew then she would simply have to trust that he knew what he was doing. "So, what are you going to do now," she asked, as the Irishman called for yet another round of drinks. "Sail that little boat into the mist and never be seen nor heard from again?" she asked, mimicking the way her nursemaid used to tell ominous stories of brigands yet uncaught.

"I'll go where there's gold, just as I always have," the silver haired mercenary said. "As for that tiny boat, she's yours. You commandeered her fair and square."

Ana laughed, actually laughed. "I suppose I did, didn't I?" she giggled. "I guess maybe I'm a pirate after all." Ana knocked back her final glass of rum. She had left Kingston under cover of night and stowed away on a Navy ship to catch a dastardly villain. Her life in proper society was over and now she was in a pub in Tortuga sharing drinks with a paid killer and contemplating life with a notorious pirate, and that, she supposed, she could life with.

88888

Tortuga looked different. Different than expected anyway.

Lieutenant Billings could not help but stare in wide eyed wonder at the fabled pirate haven. He was not sure exactly what he thought he would find here, but in all reality, Tortuga did not look unlike Kingston, Port Royale, Nassau or any of a dozen other ports of call that he had visited during his time in the King's Navy. There were no pointy tailed demons carrying pitchforks and breathing fire, no loose women plying their trade in the streets. As he ascended the main road, the former Navy man passed shops, homes, a smithy, a cooper and he could have sworn he even saw a steepled church set high upon the hill overlooking the town proper. There were taverns and pubs aplenty, each probably filled with pirates and smugglers, but Billings suspected any of these colorful people could have walked down the streets in a "respectable" British settlement and not drawn undue attention.

Only steps ahead, strode two men who would demand attention, on any street in any town. Jack Sparrow … _Captain_ Jack Sparrow was a well known pirate throughout the colonies, and also, it would seem, among the varied citizens of Tortuga. Billings shook his head as women followed the pirate with eyes filled with either intrigue or murderous rage. Those kinds of stories Jack told, at least, seemed to be true. Beside the pirate, Sir Prescott Tarret walked with the same air of authority that the one time Admiral had always employed. He walked not only like he was supposed to be there, but also like a man who expected people to stand aside and make way for him. Not so surprisingly, that was exactly what people did. A few seemed to notice that Sir Prescott was minus one appendage, but mostly women smiled shyly and men tipped their hats. Captain Tarret, a revered hero of the British Navy, was now a revered hero of people from every nation and every walk of life.

In stark contrast, no one seemed to spare a second glance for Billings himself. He no longer wore his lieutenant's uniform, for obvious reasons, but he had expected to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. He had expected men and women to be wary of the all to clean cut stranger parading through the rough and tumble pirate town. What he was currently experiencing was an anonymity unlike anything he could have imagined. He could find a room in any inn or passage on any ship and utterly disappear.

"Mr. Billings," Captain Tarret had stopped in front of an inn called the Scarlet Fever. "After everything that has happened, I do not hold you to your previous agreement. I know the proprietor of this particular inn, and I know you'll be welcome as long as you like." The former Navy captain paused. "Captain Sparrow will set about refitting _Loyalty_ and then we will embark to find my sister. Agreeing to join a pirate crew and actually joining one are two entirely different things. Consider carefully your future Lieutenant. I will respect your decision, no matter what it is."

Billings nodded stiffly. Captain Tarret was providing him with an opportunity to walk away from the criminal life he had so willingly accepted only days ago on Boothe's island. He could have any life he wanted, go anywhere he wanted. "When _Loyalty_ sails," he heard his voice answer. "I sail with her." He always thought that he loved his country, and joined the Navy because of that love. Truthfully, though, he loved the sea. After what he had done, he could never return to the Navy, so he would have to return to his beloved blue mistress as a pirate. And that, he decided, he could live with.

88888

Tortuga looked different.

Standing in the main thoroughfare in front of one of dozens of pubs, he realized that he finally regarded this off color pirate haven as his home. Glancing at the man, pirate, who stode beside him, he wondered at how far he'd come from his life as a respectable man in English colonial society. "Sounds like ol' Mr. Billings is going t' stay," the pirate said, regarding Prescott with dark eyes.

"Sounds that way," Prescott answered. He almost felt guilty about taking a promising officer from a decent life in the Royal Navy, but Billings was a grown man capable of making his own decisions, even if those decisions made him a traitor to the Crown.

"Going after Ana then, are we?" Jack asked, sounding just slightly surprised by Prescott's previous comment as to their plans.

He could still see his baby sister standing in his cabin with her hands on her hips calling him out for selling his soul and becoming the kind of man that he'd always hunted. He remembered seeing something change in her eyes. She no longer looked at him as an adoring younger sibling who trusted her elders to any end. She looked at him as a fallible human being who didn't realize how far he'd fallen. He quirked a small smile. Fact was, he did know how far he'd fallen. How close he'd come to making Black Charlie Boothe scream for mercy the way Prescott himself had begged. He'd gone to bed with a mercenary and watched that mercenary ruthlessly kill an Admiral and a decent man, according to Annie. He'd burned all his remaining bridges with a man who was once his closest friend and he'd done all those things to save his own skin. Where was the hero of the Gazette now?

"What makes you think she isn't aboard _Interceptor_ and halfway back to Jamaica by now?" Jack went on, when Prescott didn't immediately answer.

"She's through with Jamaica," Prescott said, "as it's through with her, I imagine. Besides, I expect she jumped into the damned jolly boat with Callaghan, intent on repaying him for his crimes."

Jack raised an eyebrow at the implications of that statement. "Then, wha' makes ye think she isn't dead already?"

"As much as you don't like the man, Jack," Prescott began. "He will have killed Boothe, the moment he had the chance, but he won't have killed Annie."

"What makes ye think she didn't kill 'im?"

"Is this an interrogation, Captain Sparrow," Prescott turned on his friend, eyes darkening somewhat.

"Does it need to be, Captain Tarret," Jack answered, matching his glare.

Before Prescott could answer, the sunlight glinted off of the gold cross that hung from the pirate Captain's neck. He found himself transfixed by the tiny pendant …

"_Hang on Fin," Prescott's voice trembled slightly as he held his hands over his baby brother's wounded body, blood spilling too fast from between his fingers. "Hang on little brother, we'll get you home."_

_The battle was finished. Victorious cries from the second vessel, now boarded, told Lieutenant Tarret that in the eyes of the Royal Navy, they'd won. But, as he watched the ship's surgeon shake his head sadly and move on to the crewmen he could actually help, Prescott knew he'd lost. Kneeling on the deck, holding his dying brother tight to his chest, he could feel what must be rain drops on his face, though the sun still shone. "Hang on," he said again, softer, for he knew Findley could no longer hear him. His brother's hand, the one that had been clutching his own wrist, was loosening. His brother's blood was slowing to a sluggish trickle. His brother's bright blue eyes, were closing. His brother's frantic breathing was stilled._

_Slowly rising from the bloodied deck, Prescott pulled his arm from his dead brother's grasp revealing the tiny gold cross that Findley had been holding. Wiping the sleeve of his uniform jacket roughly across his face, he took the cross and put it over his head, tucking it beneath his shirt so that the pendant dangled next to the larger silver one that he already wore. Annie had given Fin that cross and no one but his brother would ever wear it._

"Scotty?" Jack's hand was on his one remaining shoulder, all traces of anger gone from his face and replaced with familial concern.

Prescott shook his head slightly, dispelling heartbreaking memories that still haunted his dreams. "Well, if she killed the Irishman and managed to sail the jolly boat to Tortuga all on her own then we'll see her walking up this very street any minute and all of our problems will be temporarily solved," he said, grinning. "If not, then we sail as soon as _Loyalty _is ready."

Jack mirrored his grin. "Aye, aye, Captain," he said genially.

Nodding, Prescott left Jack on the street and entered the Scarlet Fever pausing in the doorway to give his eyes time to adjust. In only moments, the bar's red hair proprietor was rushing to his side, her eyes wide with worry and, he thought, love. He let her lead him to her rooms upstairs, fussing all the while as though he hadn't just sailed across the Caribbean sea under his own steam. He listened to her as she chided him for being such a _damned reckless pirate_ all the while going on about how happy she was to see him safely home again.

Admiral Sir Prescott Tarret was a privateer who called a dusky hued lady of the night love, Jack Sparrow brother, and Tortuga home. He could live with that.

88888

Tortuga looked different every time he came ashore.

Sometimes haven and refuge, sometimes welcoming, sometimes not. Always temporary. Temporary until, that is, he saw a dark skinned woman in trousers walking up the main road her eyes fixed on his. The rowdy town, looked exceedingly different with her in it.

Her eyes were so dark as to be almost black. She'd laid those eyes on him many year ago without his realizing, but he would never forget the first time he stared into her glittering eyes and knew without question that she was no ordinary woman. He had chosen her palatial home at random, intending to relieve whoever lived in that home of some gold and be on his way. Instead, he'd met Anamaria Tarret and his life had been changed completely.

"Jack," she said, as she approached the spot where he still stood, rooted to the ground where Scotty had left him. "Thank God, I thought I'd have to search all night to find you."

The pirate shook his head as if to clear muddled thoughts. "How?" was all he could seem to say.

Ana half rolled her eyes and snorted quietly. "I did a bloody stupid thing," she said, self deprecatingly, "but, here I am."

"The Irishman?"

The lady shrugged. "I didn't kill him and he didn't kill me. I suppose you could say we struck up a truce," that last statement was punctuated by a hiccup and a sardonic laugh.

If Jack didn't know any better he would guess Ana had been at the rum. Tilting his head to one side, he regarded the woman thoughtfully. For so long, the wily pirate had thought his heart buried, but since that night years ago when he had attempted to rob Ana and she ended up saving his life, he might of let himself fall just a little bit in love with her. She smiled back at him, seeming to read his thoughts, and took his face between her hands and kissed him full and long in the middle of the busy street.

He let his eyes close, wrapped his arms around Ana and kissed her back. The black heart of a pirate perhaps was not so dead after all. He did not know what he could offer this tremendous force of nature before him, but he would endeavor to be worthy of her and only hope that she could live with that.

88888

It looked different than he expected, he mused as he examined the contents of the small package that had come in the morning post. It was an extremely large gemstone to be sure, deep blood red in color and sparkling in the soft light of his study, but James Norrington had almost hoped that the treasure that had sparked the events of the past weeks would be somehow larger, somehow more than this walnut sized stone in his hand. This, he presumed, was the long lost Heart of Captain Morgan. This was what Jack Sparrow and Prescott Tarret had been searching for. This was what Black Charlie Booth had laid claim to. This was what a band of Irish mercenaries had killed for. And, he supposed, this was what an Admiral had died for.

Fingering the stone, he picked up the small card that was the only other content of this morning's parcel. The card was stamped with a red wax seal, bearing a skull and one arm holding a strange curved sword … a left arm.

_Capt. James Norrington,_

_I owe you a debt that no earthly wealth can ever begin to repay, not even this. Whatever ill will you bear towards me is entirely justified, and as we both know, well earned. Only know that a privateer I am, in the service of England till my last breath and should you ever need a low friend in a high place …_

_ Your Friend Still,_

_ Prescott_

To say that explaining the events of the past weeks to Admiralty was difficult was a fantastic understatement. The Admiral in the West Indies was dead. Boothe had escaped. Callaghan had escaped. Tarret had died, or so he'd thought. Thank the good Lord no one really knew that Sparrow and a woman had ever been involved in the first place. His story was the stuff of fiction, but, at least, Sir George, Lieutenant Gillette and most of the crew corroborated the fool's tale.

The Lords at Admiralty could not reasonably be expected to give Delaney's flag to James, but there was the new governor in Port Royale who insisted upon a fleet led by no less than a Commodore and that perhaps they could reasonably give to him. Pulling on the new dress uniform coat complete with more brocade than was ever necessary and the gold lace epaulettes bearing the cross, two stars and anchor of his newly promoted rank James nodded to his reflection in the mirror. He had not been reprimanded for the debacle that this mission had become. Instead, he'd been promoted and given a commission to eradicate piracy in the Caribbean. He could live with that.

The End

If I had only known when I began this story that I would finish it nine years later ... I cannot believe how long this one took but I hate to leave something unfinished. Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing and I hope that when my muse strikes again it works a bit faster :)


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